


Where there's passion, there's lust

by Little_Firestar84



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Firestar84/pseuds/Little_Firestar84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated M-rated one shots, previously on fanfiction.net, all about the Mentalist ship Jane/Lisbon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught Red-handed on a leather couch

**Author's Note:**

> collection of one-shots previoulsy published on Fanfiction.net, all with just two things in common: Jane and Lisbon and a lot of sexytimes.

Patrick Jane liked to let people believe that love was off limits to him, but it wasn't just that. Sex was off-limits to him, because, more than sex, he had always been a man for love. Angela had been his first girlfriend. She had been the first woman he had been with, and he had never cheated on her; until that moment, she was still the only one he had been with, the only one he had known biblically. That was, probably, why he associated the physical act of sex to the feeling of love, like the sex wasn't merely that, a physical act dictated by lust, but a consummation of the feeling itself, an appendix of it.

But, as much as he like to let people think otherwise, Patrick Jane was still a man, red-blooded man, and like any other red-blooded he had certain needs, certain cravings, needs and cravings he couldn't… get rid of in the usual way, since sex without feelings for him was out of the question and feelings with Red John still at large were off-limits as well.

So, Patrick Jane did the only thing any other red-blooded male with certain needs and cravings would do in such a situation: he took problems in his own hands, and he did it literally, like any other red-blood male would do. Too bad he choose the wrong place to do it… or maybe, it wasn't that bad.

It was late at night, and he was, like usual, on his couch at the CBI. Everybody was already gone; he was the last one standing there, submerged by darkness. Contrary to common belief, he liked it, the silence and the darkness, because they allowed him to think things straight, and he liked being alone, because it allowed him to dream and to think about things he shouldn't think about in the first place, about a certain Teresa Lisbon he shouldn't think about in the first place, to have… fantasies about Lisbon and act on them. He liked acting on them when he was there, at the CBI; it made it so much more real… like she was there with him as well, like she was doing those things there, for real, and not only in his mind.

So, like any other sleepless night on his CBI couch, that night Patrick Jane though sordid thoughts about Teresa Lisbon, about things he'd do to her, things he'd do with her and things he'd like to get done to him by her. None of them was a pure thought, they were all sordid fantasies, and many of them concerned the CBI. While he unbuttoned his pants taking big breaths, he kept his eyes closed, thinking about Lisbon, shy, undressing him and him undressing her in her office, in front of her desk. While casting his dick free, slowly, extremely slowly, he thought about Lisbon, being definitely not shy, sitting on the edge of her desk, completely bare, spreading her legs wide open in front of him, and pleasuring herself in front of him with two fingers that entered into her, while another one was massaging her clit, the other hand busy massacring her breasts, her nipples in particular, making them erect and as hard as a stone, while she arched her back in pure ecstasy, her eyes closed as she moaned and she screamed, letting it all out, calling his own name as she come like he'd been the one giving the her mind-blowing orgasm, a made-it-yourself mind-blowing orgasm where Lisbon had rode her own hand with wild abandon, grinning satisfied as she reached the apex of self-imposed pleasure. As he moved both boxers and pants out of his way, he thought about going in front of her exploring her wet and thigh walls with two probing fingers, looking into each other's eyes the whole time she rode HIS own hand with wild abandon. When he finally took his dick into his hand, not having touched his already painful erection yet, when he squeezed it wishing to end the extremely pleasuring pain as soon as possible, wishing to reach the ecstasy of a mind-blowing do-it-yourself orgasm on his own, he thought about removing his probing fingers from Lisbon's wet and hot core. He thought about her disappointed expression, and her kind of scared and hurt expression. He thought about himself grinning while he took her for the shoulders, and went to sit where she had been until few second before. He thought about Lisbon understanding where he wanted to go, seeing his pulsing and huge and hard dick, skimming briefly over it while biting her lips, while he shivered in agony or pleasure he wasn't sure. He thought about literally impaling Lisbon on his pulsing, huge, hard dick, about his hands on her ass to help the movements, about her nails scratching his back. He thought about moving slowly inside of her at first, never closing his eyes, looking at Lisbon close to having another orgasm in few minutes while licking and biting her nipples while she rode him, while he let her rode him. When his thumb teased the tip of his dick, his masturbation made easier by the glistering pre-come now on his hand, he thought Lisbon riding him with wild abandon, hard and fast, meeting every movement of his pelvis made with the only intention of royally fucking his boss in her office in their workplace so that she could never forget what kind of a heavenly fucker he was. When he come into his own hand, he thought about them coming together with no artificial barriers between them, both screaming each other's name while she kept riding him for everything he was worth, milking him completely. He thought about biting again and sucking her nipples while she told him, still out of breath and still riding him, how great it was being filled by his hot come, how she loved having him inside her, pulsing with no barriers…

Of course, in reality, Patrick Jane was alone in on his couch at the office, giving himself a hand-job (and a good one, even, but still only a made-it-yourself hand-job) while thinking about royally fucking his boss on her desk, and the only thing he had was a hand full of his own came. He took a napkin from his pocket, keeping his eyes closed like to commit the images of his sordid fantasy about his boss to memory, but, as soon as he tried to clean his hand, something, or better yet, someone, stopped him… soft and tiny fingers took possession of his right wrist and moved it, while Jane only gulped, keeping his eyes shut, scared that he'd end up with few bullet holes and a missing part of his anatomy in few minutes time. He really thought that the owner of said hand was going to kill him, until Lisbon did something he wasn't waiting for: she licked the palm of his right with the tip of her tongue, and then proceed to suck moaning every single finger of his hand. He kept gulping and didn't dare to open his eyes. It was too god to be true. Lisbon had caught him masturbating on the couch at their office, and she was being… she was being the Lisbon of his fantasies, of his wild and sordid fantasies…

"Now, we couldn't allow wasting it, could we?" Even if his eyes were still closed, Jane could feel the grin in her voice, and was quite sure that an exact replica of said grin was now present on her features. He gulped again as, his hand still in her own, he felt a finger of Lisbon's other hand gently and repetitively skimming on his still (or was it again?) hard member., a simple action that sent shivers running through his whole body, almost making him come yet again. "Well, not that it really matters, since the show isn't over yet…"

Only when he felt Lisbon releasing his hand and moving away from his body, and his dick missed the contact of her fingers, he finally dared to turn his head a bit and open his eyes to look at her. he grunted, missing her touch and her actions, understanding from the malicious look in her eyes that she was going to have everything she wanted from him, was he ready and ok with that or not. Or maybe it was the fact that Lisbon has removed the little black dress she was wearing, and was in the process of doing the same with her underwear, to revel her intentions to him. An idea come to his mind, a secret fantasy of may red-blooded males, and decided to ask her, hoping that an affirmative answer would mean that he was going to get the real deal and not just the fantasy Lisbon for the night. "Keep the heels and the holds up."

She stopped to remove her high heel, and, with clad with high heeled black sandals and holds-up, walked back to the couch, where once again she skimmed with a finger over Jane's erection, but this time while they kept eye-contact, with his hands behind his head. "I should have known you were a bad boy, Mr. Jane. After all, only a bad boy would masturbate in his workplace, where everyone could find him, screaming his boss' name while coming…"

"Meh, I was alone until you arrived. By the way, what's whit the Mister Jane, and…" he said, shifting his gaze to the amazing dance of her finger on his erection "weren't you supposed to be out on a date with Mashburn?"

"You called me Lisbon while coming. Besides, don't you find the situation much more erotic and… forbidden if we keep calling ourselves by surname? Think about it, here we are, at the office, our workplace, where everybody could come in and sees us, me naked touching your huge dick on show…." She answered squeezing it a bit. "The jerk just wanted to drag me to bed"

"You say to the man who has come screaming your name…" He answered moaning, honestly, like her fingers could force him to do anything she wanted, to tell her everything.

"You see Mr. Jane, you have patience. You were even ready to never try it with me. So I'd say that for this reason only, you should be rewarded…"

Jane didn't have time to register what Lisbon meant, that she had already impaled herself on him, making him losing his breath for few good seconds. He opened his eyes, and looked at Lisbon, grinning happy and free and wild, riding him, her breasts slapping him in the face while she moved hard and fast around and on top of him, before he reasoned to cup them and played with her nipples, torturing them so much they were hurting, when, suddenly, without being warned he exploded with a gasp and a cry of her name, letting it go inside her, filling Lisbon with his hot came.

Still grinning, Lisbon parted, sat facing him, her back against the armrest of the couch, and, still unsatisfied, without breaking eye-contact with the still out of breath Jane, she took her own problem in her own hands, starting pleasuring herself like the dream Lisbon had done. It took her a couple of minutes of thrusting fingers before Lisbon come, looking at Jane in the eyes while screaming his name like he'd be the one doing it for her… at the sight, Jane, his pants still around his knees, jumped at her, and took her hand in his won, ready to do what she had done to him. "Now, we can't allow wasting it, can we, Lisbon dear?" he said, grinning, quoting her words while he sucked her ringers and licked her hand in the same way she had after he had reached orgasmic heaven in his hand.

"What can't we risk wasting, Jane?" she asked, with quizzically eyes while he kept doing his magic with his tongue, foretasting the moment he'd taste her on her pussy directly and not through her fingers. "Jane, I asked you what we can't waste!" Oh, he found more erotic when she called him Mr. Jane, why couldn't she keep it that way? And how could she wonder what he was talking about, when it was plain obvious that he was talking about each other's juices? And who was kicking his couch on the side? **"JANE!"** She screamed, and he jumped, finding out that… that he was still on his couch, that he was still completely dressed, and that Lisbon, an extremely mad Lisbon, was still dressed.

"'M sorry, never been able to remember my dreams… what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were out with Mr. Billionaire…" He asked her, still half-asleep, while he sat and made space for her. Lisbon, extremely annoyed, joined him at his side, her head on his shoulder.

"The jerk just wanted to drag me to bed" she answered like the Lisbon of the dream had done; Jane remained out of breath, and when she noticed it, she turned to look at him to understand what was going on, and it was then that she saw it…

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like someone is happy to see me… is that the reason you were calling my name, Mr. Jane?" she said, grinning, lowering the zip while Jane was still amazingly breathless and in silence. "Still in silence, I see… Oh my, if I'd knew that giving you an hand-job was what I need to keep your mouth closed, I'd done it sooner…"

In fact, while she made him come into her hand masturbating his huge dick, he remained speechless the whole time. If it was a dream, it was too good to be true, and if it was a dream, he didn't want to wake up ever gain, not if he could be in a place where Lisbon was ready to give such amazing orgasms… and if that was what she could do with her hands, he didn't dare to think of what she could do with her pussy or her mouth…


	2. Jane's second first time

"Do you think we should really do it? Because I'm pretty sure we shouldn't… I mean, I've waited for seven years to have sex again, what's another couple of years, eh?" Jane paces frantically across Lisbon's office, sweating hands that runs in his curls or tap his pants or on his pockets. He doesn't look at the dark haired beauty who's currently sitting on the edge of her desk. "Besides…. Seriously, here, of all places' I'm pretty sure it's unsanitary, and… well… I thought you were kind of devoted to the job, and this has nothing to do with being devoted to the job, so… eh…"

Teresa looks almost laughing at the man. Patrick Jane has always been in control since the day they met, he has never raved, he has never been in panic, and he has always been controlled. Apparently, though, when sex is involved, he does, and, grinning at crossed arms, she can't help but think if it's about sex in general that Jane behaves like a teenager at his first time, or is simply right now that he is panicking. After all, seven years without sex are always seven years….

"And… well, not that Little Patrick" at the mention of the nickname, she smirks, blushing a little as her eyes fall there, and biting her lips a little, maliciously, wondering how actually little "Little Patrick" may be. "I mean, I kept… using…doing things…not too often…and... and I swear, never here… and….not that I've never thought about you…. I mean, I didn't…well, actually, I did, but, well, it wasn't like it was…. perverted or… But, well, anyway, it's been a while… since last time I… I did it with… someone else… and… well, I'd hate to… you know, disappoint you, so, maybe… maybe we shouldn't… you know… doing it…not that I'd not like to, you know… do it with you, because… not that I'd jump on you if you didn't want to do it with me, but…. I mean… did I tell you I don't want to disappoint you?"

"Oh, so now you've changed your mind and it's just to do me a favor, how noble of you, Jane!" she theatrically exclaims, a hand on her chest to empathize the concept as she walks in direction of Jane, dark eyes and as resolute as never before. They have a deal, and she has every intentions of follow it. "Bullshit, Jane, you're just scared. You're getting cold feet but you're scared of admitting it."

They are facing each other, and as Lisbon looks at him in the eyes, Jane can only stares back at her gulping. Slowly, very slowly, without even breaking eye contact, she takes the lapel of his jacket in her hands, sliding the fabric away from his body. "But it's good. It's normal. It means you're still human. But… you don't have to be scared; you don't have to feel guilty. That's why I'm here. I'm here with you, Jane, I have you… I'm not going to let you down, you know that, right?" Jane nods in silence, closing his eyes shut as her secure fingers start the operation of unbuttoning his vest and his white shirt, sending them both on the soil with just one movement. He shivers when her hands start to draw pattern son his chest, when her nails leave small marks, red lines and minuscule drops of blond on their way to his navel.

Even with everything he said and knows about control of biological reactions, he can't control it. he can't control the heat running through his veins like fire, he can't control his erratic breathing, he can't control his quick heart, he can't, and isn't sure he wants to, fight his length getting harder and harder, wishing for her, needing her, craving her…

"Everything's ok, Jane, I'm here, I'm going to help you…." She can still feel him tense as she whispers the words in his lobe while sucking and licking it. She can't resist biting it afterwards, and it's with pleasure and giggles that his reactions- shivers and moans of approval – are welcomed by the agent.

She makes her way from the lobe to his nipples with licking and kissing and sucking of her expert mouth, tracing the same amount of red skin she left previously while scratching him, but it's only when she reaches them and takes one in her mouth, playing with is as she'd like to see Jane playing with her own, encircling it with her tongue and her biting it sensually, that she makes quick work of his button.

Jane is standing in front of her, as bare as the day he was born, obviously excited by what's to come if the size of his arousal (and, grinning, she realizes that she was right, it's quite the size) is of any indication, but he is still tense. It's not good, she doesn't want to see a tense Jane, she wants to see a Jane who'll enjoy it totally and will be crazy about the things she'll do to him.

Maybe it's just because he is still the only one naked, though…. So, she decides to do something about it. Taking another step closer to the man, putting both hands on his chest, she literally throws his to seat on the couch, and stands, right before him, her core at eyes' level. He is still tense, but at least, as he gulps, he no longer avoids looking at her as she slowly, very slowly, carefully undress her, sensually, like in a striptease. When, a lifetime later, she is finally as bare as him, he traces with his eyes something he hasn't seen in a long time.

The sense of marvel is clear in the cerulean orbs, as he studies the female alive naked body in front of him, shining in arousal and need and wants and sweat while licking his lips. Again, she giggles seeing him, still a bit tense but a predator nevertheless- a predator with quite the attribute, if she can say such. She doesn't know if being thrilled or scared by the idea of having something like that inside of her…

"Lisbon, I'm not sure…." He tentatively says once again, but she simply silences him by putting a finger on his lips. Closing his eyes, he moans in pleasure as she runs it along his lips, and he licks just the fingertip. Smiling, she removes it from the sexy red pearls, and runs it along his body, until she interlaces his fingers, of both hands, with her owns.

"Hush, Jane, don't be scared. I'm here for you. I'll help you along….." Not that he seems to need any help, from his arousal. "Besides, I'm sure that it will come back to you as soon as we'll get started." Saying so with a small smile, she puts his left hand on a breast, and the other one on her core, outside of it, then, sweetly, she smiles at the man who has in his hands, literally. "Do it, Jane, I'm here for you. Do as you prefer. Go where you want to, and I'll follow" she removes her hands, leaving free reign to the male, and affectionately plays with his curls, her smile getting bigger second by second. She is so happy she could cry, because this is just… she is not happy for herself (not that she minds the sex with Jane), but… the way he breathes in and out her intimate scent, the way he looks at her body with both fascination and adoration, it's simply… there's something about it, about him starting to move on, even if only sexually speaking, that makes her cry.

If they weren't naked, if they weren't going to have sex, she'd probably seem a mother with her child, so sappy and moved and affectionate she is by the person in her (figuratively speaking) arms.

She looks tenderly at him looking with reverence at his hands on her. She isn't going to touch him with her hands or her tongue- she knows that his arousal couldn't deal with it, that it's been too long, so long that he'll probably erupt at the smallest contact. But it doesn't matter how long it will last, she doesn't care. This isn't comfort sex but this isn't just sex either. This is Jane finally finding his sexuality again after so long, finally enjoying the pleasure of the skin against skin contact after so many years. This is for him and for him only. He'll have his release, and he'll have it inside if her- she'll never allow anything else.

"I forgot how beautiful it is" he murmurs as he traces with his fingers her sex, while his other hand rubs her nipple, hardening it. She'd want to look at Jane, focused on her core, almost nuzzling it, but she can't. she throws her head back moaning, purrs leaving her lips as he smiles when he finally puts two fingers inside of her, exploring the deepness that it Lisbon while nuzzling her groin, kissing it with open mouth kisses, almost devouring it, but still with devotion, an unbelievable devotion. She feels the beginning of a smile, although sad, on her skin, and she is pretty sure he is crying at the sudden confession, a confessions that, she is pretty sure, it's terrible painful for the man who's doing sinful things to her body. "I forgot how I used to feel… I… I missed it….I know I shouldn't…" after having whispered the words, Jane brings his hands to her hips, brining her closer to him, invading her core with his mouth and his tongue, still in tears, divided between the pleasure he wants and needs to feel and the fear and the guilt. Fighting back her own tears, Lisbon brings her arms around his neck, letting her fingers play with his curls, gripping them like for dear life, encouraging his thrust – the ones of his tongue – encouraging him to go deeper, stronger, to touch and lick and suck her with his tongue and his lips just where she wants to be touched, all without words.

Her voice is needed for something else, to encourage him in another way, in another department. "It's ok, Jane, it is ok to feel again. You don't have to feel guilty… She'd want you to live, to enjoy life… wouldn't you want that for her as well?" she murmurs, while he simply nods, his mouth still buried in her; he is still crying, though, she feels on the tender skin of her legs the salty liquid as suddenly, without warning, spasms of pure pleasure, of deep ecstasy take her over the edge. She tastes her own blood as she silences her cries of pleasure, the outcome of her sudden and a bit unexpected orgasm by biting her lips. Inside her, she feels Jane grinning and smiling, the tip of his tongue touching her clit for the last time; it's just a bit, a small smile, but it's a start.

"Maybe I should reciprocate…." She asks seductively with allusion as, finally, he frees her sex from his feral lips, his fingers now busy drawing imaginaries drawings on her pale skin. He shakes his head in a not so sure "not" as he licks his lips, like he would commit her taste to his sensorial memory, or like he could taste her even better by doing this. He looks at her in the eyes, smiling again of that sad smile, but not talking. She doesn't know if it's his way of asking her if she is ok with this, or of asking himself. Between the two of them, he is the more troubled by this: of that much she is sure. After all, she can always qualify this like another one night stand- it's not like she has never had one night stands with co-workers, even if she shouldn't – but for Jane is different. This is his first time after his wife. This goes way deeper than mere sex, of mere sexual gratification. That's why he asked her, begged her to do it. He needed, still needs someone he trusts for doing this. It couldn't be a whore, a one night stand met at the bar, drunken sex. She was, always has been, the only one he could see doing this with… and they both know it.

Without adding further words, she slowly straddles his waist, like to give him time to say no. She cups his face with her hands, forcing Jane to keep eye contact. He kisses the palms of her hands as he gasps feeling her wet and thigh channel surrounding his length. He probably could come undone just by that.

He keeps crying in her shoulder while nuzzling her chest, his hands gripping her waist, when she starts to move at a slow pace in small circles on top of him. "It's all right, Jane, It's all right, I'm here for you… everything's all right… everything will be fine" she whispers between moans and feline sounds like purrs and mews.

As he finally starts to meet her, moving according to her own pace, meeting Lisbon thrust for thrust, as he concentrates on the sounds she emits, on her irregular heartbeats, unsteady breathing and low voice, he can't help but regret this- not having begged this amazing woman for sex, but they way he is taking her. He should have taken her slowly, way slower than this, he should have been on top in a real bed, in a real room, surrounded by Egyptian cotton or pale silk (not red, never red, because she is Lisbon, not some cheap and sophomoric whore), candles and flowers. He should have made her a French dinner. He should have guided her to beg after a heavy and sexy session of make out, gradually, he should have been the one undressing her, she should have been the one shy and unsure about this… instead, their coupling is rather erratic, she is riding him on her couch, in her office at the CBI, they are quite cold because there are no covers of any kind and he can only smells her and the coffee that fell on the couch in the morning – the only thing he got to offer her. He has been the one begging her to take him, they haven't kissed yet – they even haven't used first names – and she had to force the clothes out of his body and kept reassuring him, all the way until now.

What a stupid, he thinks of himself, ruining this way what should have been the greatest of his memories, the happiest one, a perfect moment, the moment he was supposed to tell her, to explain her why her, of all, why he couldn't choose any other way, why she has always been the one, the only one…

"I'm here, Jane, I'm here, let it go, I got you, I got you, Jane…" again she takes his curls in her hands, gripping them, forcing the man to look at her. She knows he wasn't, isn't in the moment, there with her, but the place is unknown to her. She wonders if he is thinking of his wife, of Red John, or who else. Maybe it's the hated Kristina to fill his mind and fantasies…

Reciprocating her actions, he grips Lisbon for the back of her head, forcing her to lower it, her lips a breathing away from his own. He doesn't close his eyes as he whispers, husky and with desire, low and seductive voice, her name, her given name, before capturing her lips in a frantic kiss, sensual and erotic as nothing she has ever experienced before. He bites her lips moaning hard as he comes when he senses her tightening around him, his release triggering her second, already imminent one- and he was scared she'd not come not even once, so out of shape as he was.

Long, very long, extremely long few minutes later, mere minutes later, he is still intimately buried in her, without the desire the let it go of her, of this; his head rests in the valley of her breasts, while she keeps playing with his curls, even more affectionately then before, her mind going in places it shouldn't go. The kiss has been unexpected, Jane, Patrick, using her name has been unexpected, this weird emotions, this jumping and trembling heart has been unexpected. She wasn't even supposed to enjoy this, it was all about him, and instead… she got outsmarted, in a certain sense, by Jane, as always, and just because of a kiss and the whispering of her given name. Just those triggered something in her, something that screams that, whatever they did, it hasn't been merely sex, it hasn't been merely a one night stand, even if it is what they wanted, what they want, it to be, what they needed and need it to be. Thinking of it as something any different… it's simply too scary for Lisbon.

She wasn't, isn't supposed to have feelings, to feel these things, but she does. It's quite scary, also because, as much as he cares, as much as he trusts her, she doubts that there's any chance of having that part of him, of being able to fix

that part of him… she should have never done it, Lisbon is well aware of this fact, but she couldn't help it, she felt like she had to. As soon as Jane has asked her to, has begged her to… Now, as always, as with everyone, she is going to suffer because she feels the constant need to fix and make everybody happy, everybody but her.

"Ehy, it's all right, it is ok" as she feels him breathing deep in and out, she still can't help but worry about him, reassure him, put everyone first but her. And Jane, Patrick Jane, as damaged as he is, as suffering as he is, as broken as he is, he is her favorite "toy" to fix and help and care. The fact that she has always had a little crush, a small thing for him doesn't help her cause either.

"We were 13 when we got together for the first time. Since then, even if we went on and off for a while, it has always been about the two of us" he whispers, so low she barely hears him. Her heart stops, because he is being sincere and open, he is confessing her something about his past, an unusual and rare event, but welcome nevertheless. Besides, those words… they add meaning to what they have just done. "Angela has been my only one… until now… and… I don't regret this…. I could never regret it… not with you… but… I know you have… needs… and urges… and… I'm not sure…" She silences him with a sensual, slow, sweet, loving, tender and full of promises kiss, without even allowing Jane to end his sentence. She smiles on his lips as he grabs her for her dark hair, deepening furthermore the lips-to-lips contact.

Maybe, just maybe, she has a fraction of that part of him, and maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to fix him a little.


	3. Passion erupting in the attic

  
She doesn't know what she is supposed to do or to say in a situation  
like that- honestly, this isn't exactly how she has pictured this  
moment in her mind for many, many years, as much as she claimed the  
opposite, but, still, here she is, late at night at the doorstep of his  
attic in the CBI, standing still, unable to move, unable to say a  
single word to the man currently sitting on the makeshift bed in the  
corner of the dusty room, with hands to cover his face out  
of… she doesn't know exactly why he is doing it. Lisbon  
doesn't know if Jane is sorry, if he is desperate or depressed or mad,  
but, mostly, she doesn't know the real reason why he is feeling this  
way.

Maybe, if in the last two days she had talked with him instead of retreating to her own apartment, they'd be cool by now, but no, she hasn't done it. Lisbon hasn't talked with Jane after what has happened, and… she isn't exactly sure why. Maybe it's just that she is still scared, of many things, or maybe she wasn't ready to face him yet, or maybe she simply preferred to give him time to "elaborate" what has happened- or maybe, she was the one who needed to elaborate after what she had discovered in that same room. Because, in the last few days, many things happened, too many, and, honestly, she just needed time to elaborate as well, maybe even more than Jane did. Besides… she didn't need to be that close to Jane, she didn't need to complicate things furthermore, she wasn't ready to do such, but, still, she knows the truth. She can't spend her life avoiding Jane, it's not right for her or for the man himself. Just because she has been scared, just because she is still scared, just because a part of her is hurt doesn't mean that she can allow the man to be miserable for the rest of his life – even the team, after all he has done, is worried for him, and right now, seeing him, she gets it, she gets why. And she starts to feel guilty and sorry-which is never, ever a good combination, especially when it concerns men.

"Ehy" it's the first thing that leaves her mouth in few days -her voice is low and rough, it's the first thing she tells him, and it wasn't definitely how she has pictured this conversation, that is, if she ever pictured it at all.

Silently, without adding anything more, she walks slowly in his direction, and, finally, Jane frees his eyes from the prison that were his own hands. He has been silently crying, he hasn't slept in days, of that much she is sure, and now she feels guilty. That simple and short word, she should have said it sooner, but… she hasn't been strong enough. She has been too scared to do so. in the last few months, she and Jane has gotten closer, too close, and now, now that Red John is no more, she was, is scared that making the wrong move at the wrong time may ruin everything. But, right now, seeing Jane in this state, a state she has seen him in maybe just a couple of times in his life, and knowing that it's because of Red John and because of what the killer has done to her… she can't help but regretting her own decisions, her own insecurities, because, after all, who is she to decide what's good or what's wrong for Patrick Jane, who's her to decided what he needs, who's her to make him suffer?

She sits at his side on the makeshift bed in that attic of his, and their eyes meet for an unknown amount of time, and what she sees in his eyes, it terrifies her more than his "madness", than his thirst for blood, more than his wish for revenge ever had... he tries to hide them, tries to hide his face from her, but Lisbon doesn't want to hear any of it. with her right hand, she lifts his chin, forcing eye-contact, and this time, he doesn't fight it.

"Good Lord, Jane, have you ever slept a minute in the last few days?" she asks, eyes closed while fighting back the tears, massaging his face and his short beard with her free hand.

"I keep seeing it" he admits, at low voice, his voice broken by tears and his cry as he leans into the palm of her hand. "Every time I close my eyes…I keep seeing it… I see that the team didn't arrive in time and you… and he… he forces me to look while he…while he tortures you, cutting you open… and he paints your nails with your own blood… and he forces me to look at you while you slowly bleed out calling out my name…"

The fact that Jane keeps shifting from past tense to present doesn't go unnoticed by Lisbon, as the meaning of the fact itself, and it's like being stabbed and kicked while she is down, because… because it's all her fault, and she could have prevented it. Jane is mixing what happened that fateful day (how the mole inside the CBI, in order to impress Senator Anne Kelvin's son, Michael "Red John" Jared, tried to kidnap Jane himself, how Jane was able to manipulate Bertram to get info on Red John's locations, how Lisbon found the notes while looking for yet another kidnapping involving again her consultant, how she was able to figure things out and locate the men, finding them holding each other at gunpoint, how another of Red John's associates surprised her, taking her hostage, how the killer almost killed described Jane how'd kill her while he'd watch, how the team tracked her and therefore Jane, saving them all, how , while he was trying to escape, Cho, always the good sniper, killed Jared) with what didn't happened, with visions and nightmares. Maybe, if she'd forced herself to come to talk him sooner, he'd be able to sleep, seeing that she was alive and well… But it has been hard, even for herself. The fact that it has taken her two days to find the strength to look at her reflection in the mirror, to study the image of the bandage on her neck that will leave a scar for the rest of her days, a memorial to Red John's last plan, is proof enough. She needed to be strong for Jane, she _needs_ to be strong for Jane. She couldn't show up all crying and desperate when she knew he'd be crying and desperate.

"Ehy, ehy, I'm here, Jane, he is no longer out there, you made it, can't you see it? I'm here while he isn't…" she keeps repeating while massaging his back, but he doesn't stop crying, doesn't stop repeating the same sentence he has already told her over and over again. It's like he is trapped in a nightmare, like he can't see this is the reality, that she is alive and well, that she made it while Red John didn't. The poor man is so stressed and in such an awful state that he is almost shaking, like he'd be shivering for a high fever or even pry to convulsions. Not knowing what to do, she does what she saw more than once her brothers and sisters in law doing with her nieces and nephews – she cuddles him in her arms, embracing him with her arms and the soothing sound of her low voice, a whisper into his ear as his blonde curls rest in the crock of her neck. "Sshhhh, it's all right, everything's well, I'm fine, I'm here, calm down and relax, I'm here, I'm not going to leave any time soon Patrick…"

At the end, this is what makes it. It's when she whispers his given name, a rare occurrence, that he awakens. She feels the moment he comes back to his senses, when he stills in her arms. She makes to release him, her grip on his shoulders getting weaker and weaker, sure that this is what he wants, but, as soon as she tries to move away with a weak smile, he stills her movements, gripping the dark haired woman so tightly she is sure that, even if she is wearing a blouse, there will be bruises in a couple of days on her forearms.

Their eyes meet, and his are dark and desperate, but they have something, like a spark, like life's returning to them, to him, after so long. His lingering look is so intense that she gulps, that she can't move, can't speak, she can't even contemplate the idea of not looking at him. There's something magnetic that pulls her towards him, she knows that it has always been there, in the back of her mind, something she has always refused to listen to, but now she can't do it any longer: the moment she took him in her arms he stopped being Jane. He is just Patrick, the man she has craved for longer that she'd like to admit, the man she has often dreamt about, the man she has gradually fallen in love with. Resisting him would be like resting the urge of drinking water, of eating. So, she doesn't- she stops fighting whatever she has fought for so long, because, really, is there any actual reason that tells her stop whatever they are starting? She doesn't care about the job, not any longer, she has seen too many lives ruined because of it, and she doesn't care any longer. She deserves to be happy and normal. He deserves to be happy and normal, and if they can be happy and normal only together, so be it.

He nullifies the grip of his hands on her, and slowly his palms trace her whole being over her clothes, time after time. He is studying her, she realizes as she keeps looking at him, with his hands like that time he was blind, and in his eyes, so focused on the journey his hands are taking along her curves, she can sees fascination, but something else as well. Jane is clearly happy to be in this situation with her, but he seems… she isn't sure of surprised is the right word, but she'd say it gets close. He seems surprised that he is allowed to do something like that again, he is surprised that she allowing him to do it, he is surprised that he is really doing it with her, like he has always dreamt of.

His hand still on her neck, and once again their eyes meet. Cupping her oval, he smiles, of a smile she has never seen before on him. She has never seen Patrick Jane so happy, so carefree, and it's just because of her. She makes him happy. She makes him a better man, and this realization… she laughs, and soon is joined by him. she realizes she was wrong- this is the Jane she wants to see for the rest of her life.

He kisses her- or better, they kiss. They kiss not once, but many, many, many times, small kisses, short kisses, smiling in them, laughing happy. there's no rush, there's no need to, and they could take their time, they could date, they could do as the rest of the world, but they are not. They survived the end of the world, and they deserve it, they deserve it because they've wanted it for so long, because they've waited for so long to be allowed to have that, because they thought they weren't going to have it in the end, and because they need it to remember that they are alive, that they actually survived the end of their world as they know it.

Without breaking the contact of their lips, sitting one in front of each other on his makeshift bed, they start to undress each other at the same time. Jane makes quick work of the buttons of her blouse, and has to eventually help the dark haired cop out with his shirt, more because she is losing her patience after having already released him from two layers of clothes (jacket and vest) then because of the stubbornness of the material. She is so frustrated (mostly because he is wearing an undershirt as well, another layer of clothes she'll have to force him to get rid of, and to get rid of this one they'll have to stop kissing) that the last couple of buttons actually fly somewhere in the room to never get found again.

Few instants later, he is standing with a bare chest in front of her, looking at her with such an adoration she has never witnessed in a man before. Lisbon, instead, still with her pants and bra, feels the need to cover herself. Somehow, blushing, she ends up thinking that she shouldn't do this, not because of him, but because of her. Covering her black lacy covered breasts, she can't help but thinking she'll never be enough for him- smart enough, beautiful enough. She'd like to retreat, to forget this. But Jane, understanding what she is feeling, doesn't want to hear any word about this idiocies, doesn't want to have any of it.

One hand on her hip, the other locked on the bandage, he assaults her. he no longer kisses her lips, but licks and sucks every inch of skin he finds from her chin to her torso. She doesn't know how, but somehow, Lisbon end up laying down on the "bed" with Jane on top of her, doing such a sweet and lustful torture to her, body and soul. All her doubts vanish as she grips his blonde curls for the first time, feeling how soft they are even for real. All her doubts vanish as he sucks and bites the tender skin of her nipples through the rough lace. All doubts vanish as she moans, almost screams his name, pry to desire. All doubts vanish as she feels his arousal against her thigh. Only one certainty remains: she wants him inside her, as soon as possible, no foreplay, no hands, no lips, no tongues, just that- Patrick Jane inside of her, Teresa Lisbon, two bodies moving like one.

With shaking hands, searching for his face to understand his reaction, she starts to work on his slacks. It takes her a while, she doesn't know how long exactly, to get rid of them. She just knows that, at once point, she realizes that Patrick Jane is standing on top of her with just a pair of black boxers, extremely tight and short, with his erection well visible – even if it's not her usual thing., she feels the need to skim over the fabric to feel the hard length of him under her fingertip – he shivers in anticipation, pry of the pleasure and he opens his eyes again, dilated, focused on her breasts, still covered. Grinning, he realizes he has neglected her.

He quickly switches position, going to seat in the middle of the so-called bed, brining Teresa with him, and without any hesitations he reaches the clasp of her bra on her back, freeing her of the troublemaker piece of lingerie with experts hands, quick hands, hands of a "magician". His grin gets bigger and bigger at the sight of the two perfect hills, of the valley between her breasts he immediately nuzzles with affection. He kisses the tender and sensitive skin, from the valley to one of her breasts, and then he passes to give the needed attention to the nipples. What he did to it while she was wearing the bra, he repeats it now that she is bare, working one nipple with his clever mouth, the other one with his hand, switching every now and then.

She grips him for his curls, keeping him against her chest, and bites her lips to not scream because of what he is doing to her. He grins satisfied against her skin when he feels Lisbon grinding against him, trying to melt into him even if they are still clothed, only if where it matters, where she wants him to be. So, as she spurs him on to keep the good work on her breasts with her silent moans and her body language, with the unoccupied hand Jane frees Lisbon from her trousers. It takes him a while, though, with just one hand, and with Lisbon being partly uncooperative because the only language she understands right now is the one of his lips on her breasts, but at the end he can't help saying he is satisfied with the result– they are both just wearing one last article of clothing, Lisbon a tiny pair of lacy panties, a matching with her bra. He isn't sure when or where shoes and socks disappeared, and frankly he doesn't care.

He has always knew she is sexy, but this… she IS every male's fantasy coming true, so sexy, so wild, answering to his presence in such a beautiful way. He wanted her before, and now he wants her even more.

With the same hand he used to free her from the trousers, her traces the counter of her panties, slipping, at then, slowly and quite carefully, a finger inside the waistband. He cups her heat, traces her lips, her folds, skims over the over-sensitive skin over there. He stills the movements of his lips as he does so, and he doesn't know where he is supposed to look. Should he look at Lisbon's expression while he pleasure her with a finger? Or should he simply look at how incredible is that said finger is finally doing what he has always dreamt of doing- feeling her sex around and underneath it?

He stops his ministrations when he hears a sound coming from Lisbon's mouth, his finger still skimming over her hot sensitive skin of her core, and it takes him a while to find the courage to look at her – a part of him is quite scared that the incoherent murmur may mean "no" as in "let's not take this any further than this". he realizes that whatever she may mean that's not the case when she keeps grinding against him, unnerved by the lack of movement and participation on Jane's side.

"You… I just… please… I don't need… I just… I just need you, please…" a lazy smile covers his lips as the words reach his mind. He can't say he doesn't agree with Lisbon on this, though. He knows that this, as much as they are making love- because he does love her, and he knows that she has fallen for him long before he did – is kind of comfort sex. They are doing this, they are following the spur of the moment, to remember themselves that they are here, alive, with each other. There will be time to explore, to pleasure each other, to try other things, all the time in the world. Besides, it's been so long for him, so many years he hasn't been intimate with a woman, that he knows that if he'll not do it, the show will be over before it could actually begin. So, still grinning, kissing passionately his lover's lips, he slowly helps Teresa to get rid of her last piece of underwear, while his boxers are removed with just one of his hands, and quite messy.

He remains on top of her- because that's what he needs, because he needs for once being in total control of the situation, because he needs to be in control of this, _for_ this. His elbows are planted each side of her face so that his weight wouldn't crash her, and his hands are running through her dark hair, like a crown, like sunrays, a marvelous contrast with the white pillow; he traces her features, stilling on the bandage on her neck, while hers are exploring his naked body, his back, tracing his rear end- jolts of electricity, shivers run through them along their spines. All the time, their lips never part if not when oxygen is needed, if not for kisses along the skin, the collarbone, the neck, or for sensual licks of her lobe. He can feel the tension rising, he can feel the need of emptying himself inside Lisbon, _around_ Lisbon. He knows he'll not last long, so, he lets it happen, they let it happen, and it's only then that he stops to kiss her, that he parts from her lips, his face away from her body, because he needs to see it, see her while they'll become one, he needs to see her, his Lisbon, his Teresa, alive and well and safe, in his arms and his life, transfigured by the pleasure and the need – she'll probably not last long either, but he imagines that it could be the same for her, that for once she'll forgive him if she'll think of him, if he'll let put aside double orgasms and foreplay for once.

He positions himself at her opening, and he joins their bodies in a quick and quite unexpected, for both parties involved, movement. He feels her gasping and her breathing getting erratic, her inner walls stretching to get used to his size. He lifts her right thigh, and "forces" it around his waist, and the new angle allows him to go deeper inside of her. She moans, not already because of the pleasure but because she needs him now, she needs him to move. And that's when, once saw the lust into her foggy green eyes, focused on his face while her nails lazily scratch his back, he does it. He pushed himself inside of her as far as he can, as far as she allows him to, and his instinct would be of getting it done, but he has to make her reach the peck of pleasure at least once… his movements get slower, and for few times, with every thrust he almost leaves her just to come back inside her welcoming heat.

His lips come back to take care of her marvelous chest, and he can't help but wonder why she doesn't love it, how she can't find it perfect – her breasts are the perfect size for his hands, her nipples feels wonderful between his lips and the feel of his tongue against them can't even be described. He keeps thrusting into her, and for the first time, with some part of his mind hidden in the back of his brain, he notices that they meet thrust for thrust, mirroring each other's movements perfectly, in synch, like it wasn't their first time.

His eyes never leave hers, though.

And it's then that they both feel it, her inner muscles clenching around his hard length, an orgasm as sudden (but expected, though) and strong as its force… she arches her back lifting it from the mattress, her chest pressed even more than before against Jane's whole being, against his face. She scratches his back with all her force, making him bleed. She doesn't emit a single sound, though, as she comes, not even his given name – her release is a silent one, only pants can be heard after.

And now that she has come… now that she has come, Jane knows that there's no reason to hold back any longer. So, he does what he'd wished to do right from the begin of their love encounter. He thrusts hard and fast into her boneless and spent being, still keeping his weight on his forearms, but he doesn't kiss her, doesn't touch her, doesn't even look at her (it's like his eyes are focused on the point where their bodies are joined intimately). Most of the remaining time he even keeps his blue orbs closed.

"Mine, you're mine, just mine from now on…I'll never leave you… you're not going to… get rid of me… just mine, Teresa…always mine, forever mine…" After the third thrust, he come inside her, grunting, keeping claiming her as his won with words and acts; he has to bite his lips, to resist the urge of crying at loud her name, making everyone at the CBI aware that they've just done something incredibly unprofessional and inappropriate in a place where they weren't supposed to do it. After he has spiller himself, his whole self, maybe even a bit of his soul, into Lisbon, he remains where he is, boneless and spent as she is. "Mine" he repeats a last time, the sound of his voice strangled as he pants the word against her chest, once he has already collapsed on top of the woman.

She doesn't answer verbally to his claims. Teresa doesn't know if Jane can see, or feel, her lazy and content and satisfied smile, but she is pretty adamant that the man heard her sighing very, very happy, and is understanding the meaning of such a simple action, and, obviously, of her body language. She doesn't need to tell him at loud that she is his and his only, she knows that he has already figured it out that she agrees 100%.

It takes him a while to regain control of his body, and realizes that his weight is crashing her petite form. When he does, with a quick movement, he switch positions, rolling on his back and brining Lisbon, naked, on top of him. They don't even try to have another go at it, they don't even touch, they don't even kiss. They just spent the rest of the night together, embraced quite lazily.

An infinite time later, they are still there, on his makeshift bed, still without any clothes on, partly covered just by a blanket of fortune (something quite disgusting that Lisbon, from the look of it, is quite sure has been used in a long and forgotten past to cover the furniture while painting), still awake. Lying on his back, Jane doesn't focus, like his usual, on the ceiling, but on the dark haired woman who's lying down on top of him, drawing invisible patterns on his chest (his nipples) while smiling a bit shy but extremely proud of herself, clearly happy. With a lazy smile, he takes a lock of hair between two fingers, one that's close to the bandage on her neck, and absently playing with it, running it through his fingers, he studies the woman who's so comfortable and content and relaxed and happy on top of him that she seems to belong there ( that's a vision for sore eyes, not her completely dressed standing in front of his couch) while he lazily skims over her back with a fingertip from his free hand.

"You're thinking so loud that I can hear you even if I'm not a psych" he breaks the silence, and it's a quite stupid statement, he knows it, but it's the only thing that come to his mind. That's how he has always acted after all. When it is uncomfortable or important, he says stupid things- just like now. He knows that the silence wasn't uncomfortable, to be honest, he has never been in the middle of a more wonderful sound, but he knew, he still does, that whatever was, is, on her mind, is important ad serious, and could define them from now on. "Ehy, what's on your mind?"

She stills her movements, and looks into his blue eyes, her chin resting on one elbow. "I wasn't really scared. I kept breathing in and out repeating that you'd saved me, that you were going to find a way to save me, as always. I kept remembering all the times you did save me, and…I just thought, _Jane is going to save me, he'll find a way, he'll never use me just to get to Red John, because he isn't that way_. And you did. You stilled him, you bought us both time." Something passes in his eyes, and Lisbon has to do her best to not laugh, because this is serious, and she doesn't feel like breaking the mood, but, still, she sees it. Patrick Jane is surprised because she just admitted something that he never, ever envisioned, not even in his wildest dreams. "Oh, c'mon, like I've never said out loud I trusted you! I think you had realized, by now, Mr. Jane" she says pointing out each word while patting his chest with a fingertip "that if I didn't trust you, you'd never been around my team for so long!"

"Ouch, and here I thought it was because of my charm and my look!"

"Oh, those are a bonus, and only mine to take, so better be careful, because I tend to be a bit selfish when it comes to relationships…" she smiles as she says so, with the same light he has seen few hours before, when he started to undress her. They share a kiss, short but tender and loving, and when they part, Teresa once again is looking into his eyes. "Well, actually, there's something else I was thinking about….and I'm not talking about the fact that I just did something highly unprofessional even if allowed, with my _civilian consultant_ in our work place…"

"Ok, look, look, look… unprofessional but allowed… someone here was so crazy for me that felt the need to check the CBI rulebook at the boss/civilian consultant relationships section… you know, I'd try to guess when you actually did it, woman, but right now there are other things running through my mind….like, for example, what those other things you are thinking about may be!" Reading a malicious tone into her affirmation, Jane once again leans into her, ready to goes under the cover or to remove the cover to mark the woman as his own once again, but with a movement of her hand, Lisbon, looking at him a bit angry, she stills his movements.

"Not so fast, Romeo. Juliet here" she says, sitting in front of him, not giving a damn about the fact that she is naked. He knows that the only reason she is crossing her arms over her chest is because of the rage and not because she'd like to cover herself out of modesty. "should get dressed, since there's a good chance that LaRoche and _Hightower_ would walk on us having _again_ sex."

"Ok, first, we made love, Lisbon dear, not had mere sex. Honestly, I think I'm one of the few men of the planet that can say they never had sex in their lives but made tender love to women who are beautiful inside out and that they love with a passion." Jane pauses, half-sitting, the blanket covering him from his waist down, and it should be comical, but it's not, and Teresa is on the verge of tears, because she sees it- he is saying the truth. She has knew for a while that he and Angela met as teenagers, and that their story had been the first and only for the both of them until that day, and she knew that Jane never gave up to lust during his quest for revenge, but what he is telling her right now… as much as he has already spoke the words more than once during the night…it's like he is telling them for the first time, or like, for the first time, they have a meaning. "Second, isn't our not so much beloved former boss supposed to be a wanted felon?"

"And didn't this demented idiot of a consultant thought that if he'd be gone missing yet another time I'd come here looking for clues and eventually found those small, black, filled with Red John related info and assumptions notebooks of his?" she almost hisses, looking not slightly amused. "Because, _Jane,_ I did. And I read them, _all of them_ , _every single one of those damn, crazy notebooks, word by word_. And, thanks to said notebooks, to the info we found in Red John's alcove and the few things we got from Bertram's confessions before he got killed, LaRoche is in the process of clearing Hightower's name, and even if I doubt she'll ever come back to the CBI, because, in her position, I'd never came back, she is currently on a plane, escorted by the police, returning safely back here."

He doesn't answer, nor try to defend himself or to object to her speech, so Lisbon goes on, always with the same tone. "Yeah, stunning, I know. Anyway, I've been the one finding her and giving her the news, and guess what come out while we were talking about the more and the less? She confessed me that, while you helped her escape, making us believe she was one of Red John's friends and making me doubts my ability to understand the people around me, well, she told me she actually _begged_ you to tell me what you were up to! And she told me you refused. Now, at first, I was mad, because, c'mon, I showed time over time complete trust in you risking not only my career but my life as well, but you refuse to share such details about the case with me? Then, I thought, of course, he wants to kill Red John, it's obvious he wants to get in our way since he wants to get to him first! Of course he'd hide things from me!" she pauses, and Jane tries to say something, but she stops him once again, stilling him once again with a movement of her tiny hand, and her whole demeanor changes. Her tone is lower, softer, her eyes are teary but not because of unhappiness, and she seems, yet again, prone to accept his affection. "but then… while I talked with her…actually talked with her, I mean, I realized that at the end the only reason you did it was because you wanted to protect the team… and… me… from him. so, I have to say, it has been rather sweet and romantic, stupid nevertheless, but sweet and romantic in your own stupid, idiotic and crazy kind of way."

Jane looks at her, confused, and Lisbon has to put on her best poker face to hide the amusement at the sight of the lifted eyebrows. "Ok, so… am I forgiven or not? Because I'm rather confused and in this position, it seems that my uncanny ability to read people is failing me…"

"Let's say that, on behalf of the fact that you weren't only running after mere revenge but actually trying to protect those you care about, there's a good chance that you'll _eventually_ be forgiven" she is still serious and a bit annoyed, but, still, can't help but smiling. After all, who ever thought this possible? Red John's dead, Jan's alive and free, and they are together-kind of, at least. "By the way, the answer is yes." She leans again on him, for the last time, giving him a quick kiss, leaving him more perplex than before, and she is starting to question if this is happening for real, because never before has Jane acted in such a way. Of course, never before Jane has made love to a woman – her!- on his makeshift bed in the attic, so…

She laughs as she gets dressed, and she turns to look at him one last time only when she is already at the door. Jane hasn't switched position yet. He is still half-sitting on the bed, covered by the blanket from the waist down, completely naked and definitely questioning her words- his lifted eyebrows are proof enough for her. "Yes Jane, I'd like to join you to dinner tomorrow evening in that nice restaurant in the valley where we once went while investigating a case. And, I'm telling you, I'll not mind if you'll call it a date, or you'll ask for the terrace because it's more romantic, _and_ I'll definitely don't mind if you'll feel the sophomoric need to seduce me over a meal…that is, if I'll not feel such a need first as soon as you'll ring my doorbell."

They both smile as she leaves, and for the first time in his life, Patrick Jane contemplates the idea that psychs may actually exists, because that were exactly the words he was going to tell her- minus the seduction thing, though. After all, they are already consumed their relationship.


	4. Werepenis (kink meme at Livejournal)

There was something wrong with Lisbon, and Jane couldn't exactly say what it was.

There was just one thing he knew for sure: one a month, she refused intimacy, of all kind. Once a month, she didn't give, and she didn't take.

And that was saying a lot. Because Lisbon just _loved_ to take. And wasn't she kinky about it… for years and years, Jane had thought she was simply a prude, more or less a nun, but man, he was wrong. she proved so time over time. After all, she had been the one "seducing" him, even if seducing wasn't exactly the right word. She had awakened him from his blessed beauty sleep, and told him to go in to her office, just to handcuff him to a chair and have her wicked way with him. That time he had even been fully clothed from the waist up. But he had enjoyed it, every minute of it, even if she had been the only one doing the touching.

Then, there had been the time he had found her in the attic. To be honest, he didn't find her, more like, _spotted_ her. and overheard her. well, yes, he had walked one night into his attic, just to find out that someone was already there. And that someone was Lisbon. completely naked, on his makeshift bed, eyes closed, breathing hard while buy moaning his name and crying out of ecstasy while she was pleasuring herself with a huge vibrator and calling out his name. he had loved the outcome, jumping on her right there and then. He was just sorry that looking at her masturbating while imagining him screwing her got him so hard and horny he didn't last that long.

AND there was the time on the place, when he got his ways with her in the bath, finally get to join the mile high club, one of the best experience of his life, as much as a quickie could be defined as such, considering that he had undressed enough to just free from its restrain his hard rock cock , that Lisbon hadn't taken off completely her pants and while he was going at it with her, penetrating her, sat on the sink, her legs around his neck, they had just moved a bit out of the way her tiny silk tong? (well, if he had to be honest, he quite liked when they didn't get to discharge her underwear. He got him harder and harder, hornier and hornier, fingering her somewhere hide while just moving a bit her underwear…)

God, she was kinky even when she was being a prude. Her most puritan act had probably been the time she had given him an hand-job while he was driving back to HQ from a crime scene, saying that it was her revenge for having upset a politician, and a very powerful one indeed (how she licked her hand clean, sucking her fingers like a popsicle, after he had come in her hand, wasn't so prude or puritan, though).

Or maybe…well, there had been that time, while they were checking out a car, waiting for the perp to appear (even if they both knew he wasn't going to show up) and she had moved his seat all the way back just to get on her knees between his legs and unzip him. man, hadn't he loved that marvelous blowjob she had given him? he had almost come again when he had realized that Lisbon was grinning while he was coming into her mouth, and she was drinking him in, literally.

She was as hot as hell, always horny, always willing to go at it, always so, so wet for him, and she liked taking it in every possible position, and they had Christianized every place they could think of, his beloved couch at the CBI included … as soon as they become fuck buddies, he had stopped altogether porn and virtual sex. Who needed them when they could have the real deal?

He had never fucked that much, not even when he was a womanizing teenager, and he was good in bed at the time. But now? Sometime they went at it even twice or three times a day, and even when she was having her period, they always found something to do- sometimes he'd take her in the ass, or she'd give him a hand-job or a blowjob.

Yes, they went at it like rabbit, like animals in heat, unless a day. There was a day each month she refused to acknowledge intimacy of any kind with him, and now that the day had once again come, he couldn't wait to see for himself while she was refusing him the so needed fuck they both deserved…

Breaking and entering had always been his specialty, and besides, he knew that unsatisfied Lisbon wasn't too careful. If he knew her, and he did know her, in every way and in every position, she was probably thinking about calling him for having a quickie against the wall. or maybe… he understood, from the noises she was making, she was indeed missing him, because those sounds, those amazing sounds, those moans he knew so well and always managed to make him as hard as a rock…

In complete silence, fighting the urge to stroke himself to orgasm while looking at Lisbon doing the same, he walked to where she was standing, naked, in the middle of her bed, sitting on her knees busy stroking herself to orgasm with her expert fingers. His plan? Jumping on her and lick her fingers clean, just to proceed to use his own fingers on her. until…

"you have a penis!" Lisbon stopped to massage her hard rock erection as soon as she heard Jane's voce, and opened her eyes in panic. He wasn't supposed to get to know about her little (well, not so little) secret. She loved too much the sex with Jane, and Bosco taught her that two penis into a relationship, if the guy is straight, wasn't good.

"Listen, Jane, I can explain…" she tried to cover it, but he stopped her, and, instead, went on his knees at the side of the bed, so that it could be at eye-level with… the beast, and looked at it grinning, with amusement in his sparkling eyes.

"My, My, I've never thought possible for the legend of the werepenis to be true. I've heard of them, of course. in the carnie world, but I've never got to meet a girl who actually had one. I thought it was just a legend… but you, Oh, Lisbon, you always have to prove me wrong, don't you?" she blushed of a dark crimson color, a fact quite new in their sexual relationship since she was always so open, and he licked his lips. her breath dying in her throat, foretasting what she hoped he'd be soon doing. "so, tell me, dear, how did you manage to have such a wonderful and huge werepenis?"

"Well, you see, there was this girl in college, and she was gorgeous, and… I was open minded and experimental at the time. And when she told me about it, instead of backing out, I just took it in my mouth, and swallowed every single drop of her come." She paused, starting to work on her hard rock cock again. Talking about her sex life with women was turning her in an unbelievable way. "I knew what was he danger of drinking the come of someone with a werepenis, but… how could I resist? It was just perfect… I got to have the best sex with my life, because she was a girl and knew just how I liked to be touched, and I got to be filled so, so well but her huge cock…"

She was moaning at closed eyes, so she didn't see it coming when he put his hand on her knees forcing her on her back. She collapsed on the mattress, and opened her legs from him. Jane attacked her rock hard cock with his mouth and his tongue, starting to lick it from tip to balls and lubricating it with both her pre-cum and his saliva.

She hissed both in pleasure and pain as he worked his hand on her balls while nipping at the tender and sensitive skin of her underside. That was when he did it, took her in his mouth as far as they both could, and started to suck her hard, allowing the woman he loved to pleasure so much to thrust into his mouth, allowing her to buck between his lips.

He was doing to her the same things she always did for him, and when she realized it, she held eye-contact, she went to look for his eyes. and that was when it happened.

She come, hard, and fast, in his mouth, hot semen filling his lips, ejaculating so much he barely was able to drink all of it. but he did it.

While she looked ta Jane getting ready for round two-and she wondered what round two was going to be- while cleaning his lips with his tongue, Lisbon realized he had drunk her come.

She asked herself if he'd be huger and huger or if he'd be gotten a second penis.

Either way, she knew for sure she'd loved being fucked in both outcomes.


	5. How to punish your naughty consultant

Promises, promises and more promises, all of them empty, something Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon was, frankly, tired of. Jane kept making promises, Jane kept breaking them. Jane kept not obeying her, doing, for example, something like hypnotizing a witness when she had told him not to- and that had been the last drop. It was time to put some sense in that empty head he had, and since traditional methods were useless with him, she had to get creative. Closed in her office while looking at the man in question faking sleep, Teresa grinned. What she was about to do was what they both needed… and probably the only way to put some sense into his head.

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt were, at the end of the day, already gone, all of them busy with their lives, while Jane was always left to "sleep" on his couch 'till the early hours of the morning (when he went to his rented apartment to get a shower and fresh clothes) and Teresa was left to catch on paperwork- often caused by Jane himself – until one and, sometimes, even two o'clock. This fact was a blessing, because it gave her the perfect opportunity to put her plan in motion, since it wasn't weird that they were alone in the office that late. Putting on the angrier face she could ménage while faking it (an easy task, since she was almost always mad with him) she approached the brown leather couch and kicked it in order to get his attention.

"Jane, I know you are not sleeping, get the hell up – as he reluctantly opened his ocean blue eyes to look at the woman in front of him, a bit annoyed, and Teresa had to suppress the grin and the giggles of anticipation, because with discharged clothes, semi-closed eyes and blond curls with "I've just left my bed" effect, he looked absolutely wild, sexy and hot, and , lord, she so wanted to push him back on the damn couch and collapse on him… but she wasn't going to, she was going to take things in her own hands and act according to her plan – Jane, my office, now. We need to talk."

"Can't we talk here? I'd prefer to have my couch!" as he childish begged her , Teresa answered simply not with words, but an action, moving to her office and leaving the door open so that he could enter – which he did.

"Sit – she ordered him, but, when she turned to look at him, she noticed he just was lazily lying on her couch, legs crossed and hands behind his head – Jane, sit her on the damn chair on front of my desk" annoyed as hell, Jane had to do as she had asked, because seeing her eyes red with rage he understood he had to do as she wanted if he wanted to keep working with her unit. He looked at her with questioning eyes as he noticed her starting to grin while playing with her handcuffs, and got a bit scared when she got closer and closer, with slow movements; he was so kept by her seductive moves that he didn't even fully registered when, once circled him, an hand on his shoulder to keep him steady, she had handcuffed him at the chair, hands ay his back. When his brain finally registered the precious information, he wasn't scared, because at the time, he had already seen her standing in front of him, with something in her eyes that could only be described as lust.

"You've been a naughty boy, Patrick – she said as, while tossing unceremoniously her brand new, never seen before black high heels in one corner of the room, she unbuttoned one by one all the buttons of her white blouse that fell on the pavement as she got closer and closer to him- a very naughty boy" as she said so, her black skinny jeans joined her shirt, and Teresa was left in only silk and lacy deep green and black bra with matching panties- a thong, to be more precise (French, he assumed gulping , and he was quite sure he was assuming right, since the sight he was having, face to face with said item of underwear, was excellent) and fishnet hold ups. Realizing how he looked taken by her sudden lack of clothes, Teresa grinned satisfied, skimming over the skin of his chin, probably shaved in the morning, and decided it was time to go on with her plan.

She sat on his knees, still grinning, enjoying the power she was having, for once, on him, legs spread on each side of him, her barely lingerie covered body pressed firmly against his own, and, while she opened his vest and shirt without actually undress him, she bit his lips to force him to gave her access, to let her explore his mouth; as their lips met, a bolt of electricity stroke them, and Teresa realized he was up to that as well. Breathing become erratic, eyes met, eyes dark with lust, and the dark haired woman felt the need to physically feel how much he wanted that, how much he wanted her. Sitting in his lap, she wondered if he could realize how ready and expectant she was, she wondered if he wanted to feel her very wet core under his fingers as much as she wanted to feel his hardness in her hands, because that was exactly what she wanted to do…. And what she did.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact (something that turned him on like nothing before), she unzipped his trousers, and, once left her spot, she forced him to stand, so that she could easily remove both boxers and pants; once done with his clothing, she moved to her own, removing the last two items of lingerie that were still covering her, her bra and the microscopic panties that she tossed away like they were garbage she didn't care about. She come back to sit on his knees, naked, but the man was too focused on the article of underwear on the pavement. He so wanted to taste her, and since he was pretty sure she wasn't going to allow him to, he decided he was going to even be okay with just licking her panties to know how she tasted; looking into her eyes the whole time, he had seen how turned on she was, and to be that turned on, he assumed she had to be extremely wet, the kind of wet that left delicious juice oink microscopic underwear. One drop, one drop was everything he was asking for…

"If you'll behave, I'll allow you to keep them once we'll be done here – he nodded turning his full attention back to her. – good, now this good boy will suck, lick and bit my tits while I'll take care of his friend here…" he was already hard, so she went directly to the point, and took the his length into the circles of her wrists, cupping it from tip to balls, allowing Patrick to thrust into her hands as he sucked her nipples intermittently, leaving them hard and erect.

"Look at me in the eye as we do it" she ordered him. She was fighting hard to suppress the moans of pleasure he was giving her, but she didn't want to give up. She wanted to be in control, had to, and moaning would mean she wasn't.

"I'll not last…" he moaned between moans, still busy with her breasts.

"You'll last because I order you to. Do you like my hand-job? – As she stroked harder his hard-on, he nodded, and she grinned satisfied – excellent. Now I'm going to free your right hand, so that you can pleasure me. I aspect you to lick your fingers when you'll be done" she kept giving him one of the best hand-job he had ever received, the first after years, while he did as she had told him to, thrusting into her core, just skimming over her clit, 3 fingers in and out, stimulating that core that was wetter than he thought; he wasn't even disappointed that she wasn't moaning, victim of the pleasure. He could feel, from the way her she was tensing around his fingers that she was close, he knew she didn't want to moan to not lose her control; as he saw how… ecstatic… she was, he realized he didn't care. Pleasuring her was enough.

She came, stroking him harder, and Patrick was disappointed to notice she had stopped her ministrations. "Be a good boy, Patrick, and lick your fingers as you promised. Meanwhile, I'll suck you" she felt a bit weir as soon s she realized what she had said, but, kneeling in front of him, pushed the thought away. As she started to lick the tip, she wondered what had gotten into her mind; oral sex was something she had received many times from plenty of people, but reciprocated not often, and only when she had been almost pushed into it. But, as she took it into her mouth, playing with it as she had played with his tongue before, she realized that although oral sex was still weird, oral sex with Patrick Jane was less weird and more erotic. It was something she felt the need to do, something she thought she could learn to enjoy a lot.

She looked at him, he was doing to his fingers the same slow licking dance she was doing with his length; she tasted of strong mint, he thought, as he sucked his own 3 fingers, becoming harder as he felt her grinning with him in her mouth. He decided he was going to keep the panties, look at them, tasting them to remember this very instant. Even better, he decided he was going to beg her to have a repeat. Even if he tasted her indirectly, and her juice was mixed with his own sweat with an accent of the tea he had just taken, he knew he was already addicted to her. He was going to beg her to accept oral sex from him; he was going to beg her to seat on her chair, allow him to go under her desk, lift her skirt, remove her panties, and lick her. He was going to stay there, hidden, making her scream at closed eyes, he was going to make people believe she was having an erotic dream about the two of them, and then he'd steak her panties, to have something to concentrate his mind on while self-pleasuring himself… he was so kept by the vivid dream, that he hadn't noticed she had stopped to suck him, to come back on his knees, busy stroking him again.

"Don't worry Patrick; you'll lick me sooner that you think. After all, I really like being kissed… and licked… tasted… and sucked… by people – his eyes widened as she said so, and he wondered if he got it right – Yes Patrick, I've received oral sex from both men and women, and I've gave it to both as well, but I had full sex just with males, and it's not going to change. You know, one night Grace was extremely horny… and drunk as well… so drunk the following day she didn't remembered I made her come 3 times with just my tongue. Actually, tasting a woman is something I've always feel at ease with. When I finger myself, I always lick them afterwards, and I come again…when I lick a man, instead, is usually because I need to lubricate it before he put it into me, but with you… your dick is very appealing, I'm not sure I'll be able to look at you ever again without wishing to take it into my mouth… tell me, Patrick, would you like to come into my mouth?"

He looked at her eyes in disbelief. That was Teresa Lisbon, a sexually open Teresa Lisbon, a sexually open with Patrick Jane Teresa Lisbon… she was Luxury made flesh. "Mmm…yes…"

"And I bet you'd like me to drink your sperm, right?"

"Mmm….yes…"

"Not today, Patrick. today we'll see if your dick feels as great as I think inside my pussy…" she freed his other hand with a quick move, and positioned herself so that he was at her opening; as he hid his head into her breasts, she removed his clothes, leaving him as bare as she was; she put her legs around his waist, while Patrick moved his hands to the small of her back to help them in the dance they were going to play.

"Put them on my ass, it will be easier" as she was taking his curls into her hands, he moved suddenly, doing as she had asked, entering her completely with just one move, making her gasp in pleasure.

"Direct to the point, I see… mmm… I like a man…. Who…. Mmm… when his woman asks him to just….. Mmm… fuck her…he…..mmm… simply does so…"

Having sex with her in that position wasn't exactly comfortable, but he still thrust into her, slowly, in and out, helping himself and her in the movements with the hands he had put on her lower back.

"Does it feel as good as you though?" he asked her with a husky voice, directly in her hear.

"I told you your dick is special, extremely appealing…"

"You know, I think I just realized something about you. You don't need to touch yourself to come, you just have to think about the pleasure, picture it into your minds, like having an orgasm during a vivid erotic dream - he kept whispering, increasing their pace, not done with talking yet because he had the feel that being frank about it was arousing her even more - and you come in silence. I bet you could come in the middle of a meeting without anyone noticing it. I wonder how many times you come this evening, since I just felt you coming with my hand-job, but it was because I was inside you…"

"I come when I gave you my hand-job, when I sucked you, when you touched me, and we I told you about giving Grace oral sex…"

Thrilled by the idea he was going to make her come 5 times in one evening, he increased the pace, thrusting into her harder, filling Teresa, keeping the new rhythm steady. It was matter of few minutes before he came, no barriers between them, the way he cried her name, the way he looked at her, the sensation of his sperm inside her triggered her own release- her last one for the evening.

"And here I though you wanted to punish me…"

"The punishment will be that I'll never allow you to experience this ever again, if you'll not behave…"

Exhausted and glowing, he fell asleep, still inside Teresa, and so did she, resting her head on his shoulder…

"Jane, I know you are not sleeping" as he opened his eyes, he realized something was wrong; one: he was back on his couch; two: they were both dressed, three: Teresa was calling him "Jane" again; four: she was mad, and kicking his beloved couch.

"Jane, I'd been clear, you weren't supposed to hypnotize our only witness! What's the DA is supposed to do now?" as in trance, he looked at her in the eyes, the images of the night impressed forever on his retina; he realized that he had been a dream, and, as he wondered if she was that much of a bad girl in reality as well, he thanked God that she wasn't paying attention to a very awake and hard area of his masculine body.

"Jane, are you running a fever? You don't seem all right… and stop to look at me like an idiot, because I'm not going to eat the puppy dog eyes this time!" as she said so, she come back into her office, slamming the door at her back. Following her with his eyes, Jane decided that he was going to make everything in his power to make the dream come true, so that he could check the differences between the dream Teresa and the real one. Somehow, he thought it was going to be a way better, because the real Teresa was sweet and caring. He knew that, was it going to happen, it couldn't be about lust. He decided he wasn't going to have sex with Lisbon, of fucking her like in the dream. He wanted to open his heart to her, and make sweet love to her under the sheets of her bed with the light of the streets lamp entering from the semi-closed blinds… he didn't want to see the dream coming true. He wanted things to be such much better. And he wanted so much more – he had wanted it from a while now, but he couldn't admit it to her at loud. He was going to give her all of this, only, not yet… but one day, that was for sure.


	6. Tiredness, tension, pain and fear

After he confessed her his crimes, how he had lied to a jury, buying himself a verdict of innocence, how he had killed the wrong man, a mad man, a bad man, but the wrong man nevertheless, after he told her that Red John, the real one, was still alive, at large, after he had confessed how he felt about everything was going on and had happened in the last few days, they kept silent for the rest of the ride back home, not a single word shared between them.

And they weren't even really going home. He no longer had one, his home had been destroyed- the mattress under the smile in a place where once happiness had been was no longer an home, just a shadow, a cemetery where Patrick Jane had found not eternal rest but immortal damnation, like a ghost possessing, hunting the mansion. The attic wasn't home. And neither was the Spartan motel room where Madeline Hightower had found him not long before.

He no longer had a home. And who knew about the future, what it could hold? He didn't know. He thought he had, he had hoped he had, really. While talking with Timothy Carter- if he was rally called that way. He had, for the first time, saw something that had been refused to take in consideration, couldn't have taken in consideration, in the last 8 years.

Hope. For a future, a tomorrow, something more than what he had now, something more than being merely the shadow not of the man he once was, but the shadow of a man, of a human being. He had dared to think of being a husband again, of being a father again, of having not just a place, not just a house, but a home. It had been just… like a taste, like a lifetime saw in front of his eyes- a lifetime not happened yet, but still…

And he had loved it, oh, he had loved it so much, he just… he couldn't simply shake the thought away. He had seen it, and now, like the greedy and selfish man he had always been, he wanted it, and he wanted it so much he didn't know if he could wait, make it until the day Red John would be gone, done and dealt with, this time for real, once and for all.

"So… I guess I'll see you around. If Bertram doesn't convince the higher-ups to have us all transferred to the Alaska State Police…" Lisbon's forced laughter awoke him from his reverie, and, still a bit out, he turned to face her, and shaking his head, he finally noticed their surroundings - the parking lot of "his" motel, where his favorite car, his beloved Citroen DS, was diligently parked (blessed the team. Probably Lisbon, she loved that car, even if, with him, she insisted of calling it a trap on wheels. She found it charming and, yes, decadent as well, in a strange way. And had fantasized about the two of them going at it there more than once, he just knew it, sinful images of the two of them, driving back from a crime scene, late at night, fighting to stay awake, and Lisbon, decided to keep him awake, to strip him of his ever-lasting control, of that mask, gently skimming over his groin, the whisper of a touch at first, then unzipping his trousers, and putting her small, soft and warm hand inside his boxer, trying to span him, squeezing him, making him hard and bothered, fingers tracing his vein, bathing in the texture of his pre-cum, making him come inside his own boxer, all the while fingering herself with her free hand until she couldn't help it, and come as well, climaxing screaming his name inside the car, at the top of her lugs…).

"Uhm… Jane?" she called him, once again, this time directly using his name, hoping that he'd wake up, that he'd… do something, other than staring in front of himself, in the void, or at her, for at least 15 minutes at time.

He stopped to stare, but not to look, maybe seeing her for the first time, or maybe, just noticing how he looked at her for the first time- that taste of heaven he had felt in the mall, once again there, with him, for him, ready to slip through his fingers, if he didn't do something. But could he? And mostly, did he deserve, really, that taste of heaven, or even it all?

He wasn't sure. Like he wasn't sure she needed another complication in her life like him, he knew she didn't need the heartache, could easily do without it, but, then again, he was selfish, and maybe… maybe she wanted it.

He didn't know, wasn't sure. He had always told her she was translucent, and that was the point. Translucent wasn't transparent. You can see through something transparent, but, on the other side, something that's translucent, is always a little foggy, objects are never fully on focus, and changing from the point you look at them, according to how the light hits the spot. And that was her, never on focus, always foggy.

He had seen… signals, he dared to call them, small hints in their years "together". The way she blushed, how she got caught when he gave her something, was it coffee, a donut or a pony, the pout of disappointment when she had to return the emeralds (not that they suited her. it was just a game. He could do so much better….), how she had kept the origami frog… how she had felt at easy dancing with him, totally relaxed, how she had trusted only him along the years (with info about her pats, with her own life and sanity). And how she had been the first one willing to stay there, with him, to help him out, always, how she had believed him even when he was the first one to question his own sanity, and during the trial, when he was ready to even accepting the death penalty, when he refused being bailed out… she had always been there, every time he turned while the DA spoke, he could see her, her face, her tender smile, tired, a bit sad, but a smile nevertheless. For him, just for him… like she was there for him when he was sitting in a visitor room inside a prison, Lisbon the only one who went to see him, check on him, the only one who actually tried to understand.

Yes, she definitely wanted him, and knew that wanting him just meant troubles, but he wasn't sure if she was already aware of that, of her own feelings.

She was attracted by him, that much she knew from the indecent dreams, open eyes or by night, she had had since… well, always. And he was pretty sure she liked to get herself off thinking of him, fantasizing of him, of them, that when her fingers played with her nipples, completely naked on her bed, or more often, with her 99 jersey lifted from her body, she thought his fingers were cupping her breast, and that his mouth, just a shadow in the reality of her own bedroom, was taking care of the neglected one. He knew that when she spread her legs she thought of doing it for him, that when she pushed two fingers inside herself to the hilt, she imagined it was his hand entering her, his thumb pressing on her clit and droving her insane, bringing her to the edge again and again and again (what a wonderful view for his eyes, he just needed to let it happen, he had to make it happen).

He knew it, he didn't know how or why, but he just did. Maybe it was because, in the solitude of his motel room, or in coldness of the attic, when he jerked off, tracing his body with his hands, skimming over the taunt skin of his cock, spanning it, barely, with his huge hands, stroking, slowly, so slowly, himself to orgasm, he did it thinking of her, seeing her – it was Lisbon who skimmed over his whole body, gently mapping the surface of his length. It was Lisbon who tried to span it with her so small hands, unsuccessfully, because he was quite huge, and it was Lisbon who stroked him, up and down, up and down, driving him insane, her actions made easier and more erotic by the slight state of pre-cum she rubbed on his dick like it was baby oil, it was Lisbon who made him cum, driving him crazy with need and want, Lisbon who took his load on her, on her naked skin, happy and satisfied, licking everything that come close to her mouth, her wicked tongue probing out of those luscious, full lips (so, so perfect for going down on a man…) to have a taste of him, enjoying the rich, hot and balmy seed, his very essence, all for her, just for her…

"Jane, are you planning of leaving this car or what?" Once again her voice, like the beautiful song of a siren, awoke him, bringing him back to reality, a reality where they were both fully clothed and inside her car. He preferred much more his indecent dreams. Even if those indecent dreams were causing him a little problem- well, not exactly little, but… definitely noticeable, was she going to look there.

He didn't know what he was supposed to hope into. Did he want for Lisbon to leave like nothing was going on? Or, did he want for her to see how hot and bothered thinking of her made him? Did she wanted to know it, or she was good this way, keeping dreaming of him in the solitude of her room? Did she want to put him out of his misery or fantasy was enough for her? Maybe she didn't care too much, maybe it wasn't even a crush, just fantasies about wild and crazy sex and she didn't care about him too much, not beyond friendship, at least. She hadn't tried to touch him during the trial, after all, hadn't tried to touch him in jail, or after he left, or when he was finally set free. Not even a small touch to try to give him comfort.

But then, he saw it. She was tense, rigid, worried, and kept stealing glances every now and then. She was relieved he was out, that was sure, but she was still worried, worried because Red John was still at large, of course, but also because of him. She was worried for him, had been since that day at the mall. She was worried she'd never seen him again, and was worried that he was going to vanish like thin air. She thought it was too good to be true, and didn't want to risk it being an illusion, didn't want to hope for too much.

"Uhm, sorry, I guess my insomnia is catching up with me. Prisons are such an ugly place to sleep in, Lisbon, extremely dangerous. And for a man of my ligature, charm and beauty it was quite dangerous…" he left the car, finally, grinning, happy like a child on Christmas day, then lent on the door of the car. "Goodbye Lisbon, I'll see you soon! And, please, don't exaggerate with the takeout. Your body can only tolerate that much Chinese…"

She sped away without bothering to answer him, irritated like usually with her pain in the ass consultant, almost crushing his feet under the wheels, and he just grinned, laughing.

Once she was out of sight, he strolled, but not towards his room, but his car. He had a plan to make her relax, a plan to make her realize he was still there, wasn't going anywhere, he was real. And he was going to stay.

* * *

When she entered her home a good hour after having left Jane, cartoons of food in her hands, something took immediately her attention. Only, she isn't sure if it's the fact that once she get inside the lights are already turned on -but maybe she forgot to turn them off before leaving in the morning or the smell of fresh, home-made food, something that she hadn't definitely forgotten from the morning.

Yes, it's definitely the food to catch up with her first. With the knowledge that only one person and one person only, could dare to enter her home (break in- that it is) and then start making food for her. And the name of that person was Patrick Jane, the same man who, not too long before, asked her to drop him at his motel.

She wondered if he came out with this plan, or whatever it was, before she went away, if he had been up to this all the time since she took him outside the tribunal, or if maybe it's something he decided to do once left all alone in the cold, dark room he happened to live in, testament and proof of his ever-lasting punishment for something she never thought he was supposed to blame himself for.

He didn't kill his family. Red John did. He talked, of course, but everybody talked. And not their families got killed, because, if every time someone got offended by mere words, by stupid idiots, they killed the families in return… well, she'd probably never know the meaning of words such as "day off", "spare time" or "vacancies". (Not that she did anyway. Why should she take days off, since she didn't have anyone to spent said days with?)

Trying to remain stoic, she walked into the kitchen- no reason to get angry, and she didn't feel like putting on a fight. There's nothing he didn't already knew, nothing she hadn't already told him few millions of times, and she was too tired to repeat them once again, also because it would be useless. And maybe she didn't even want to, not tonight, at least. Jane had been too much in the last…. In the last years and in the last few weeks in particular, there was no reason to add injury to the injured (besides, the aroma is just paradisiacal. She is pretty sure she could have an orgasm just for that).

She threw the cartoons of food carelessly in the fridge for the following days, and then leant against the counter, looking at Jane busy with pans and stoves, her apron covering his clothes, sleeves rolled up, couples of buttons undone, no vest, no jacket (She didn't mind the jacket, the vest, yes. The thought of having to undone layer after layer to find the hidden treasure was quite erotic), the very picture of domesticity.

It was like he belonged there, and, as scary as that thought was, it was even scarier her desire to have him there, with her, every day, every night, to be both of them like that (she hated him, when he did that, giving her a taste of heaven, a taste of who he was, of who he could be again only if he tried, of the man he didn't want, couldn't be again, not now, maybe never again).

"You are lucky I'm in the mood for home-made food, Jane, otherwise you'd be with a pair of handcuffs around your wrists right now. After having been kicked in the ass, repeatedly."

He didn't answer, just smirked, grinning, with a strange light in his eyes, one she got to know quite well during the years, but still different. It was like he was making some innuendos, double-meanings sentences, but it was slightly different at the same time, like he hadn't done that, the smirk, the grin, just to annoy her, but because….but because the thought of being handcuffed by her (maybe to her bed) was actually… turning him on.

Well, it was an erotic thought. And she was pretty sure it could even be a sight worth being seen, with him having that gorgeous body, and being that well endeavored in that department (she wasn't spying on him, really. She didn't do it on purpose, entering the shower room while he was already inside. She didn't know he was there, and even if she got an unforgettable view of his naked body, he never found out about it- thanks to God).

He kept smirking, but never stopped chopping the vegetables – no onion or garlic, which she loved and he knew it. Why? "Well, what can I say. When you left, I thought that I haven't been… I thought I should have done something more to show you my gratitude. I've put you through hell and back these last few weeks, and…."

She lightly hit him on the shoulder, smiling bemused, blushing in the color he loved so much. "Don't be silly, I told you, you are part of our family, and besides, it wasn't just me. the whole team helped, even Van Pelt."

He smiled sadly at the thought of the poor girl, and hoped that Rigsby could be there for her, her friendly shoulder- for now. Those two were like magnets, attracting each other, always, all the time, and in such an obvious way that only someone who was faking his own feelings, like O'Laughlin, could have missed the longing in their hearts, the desire for each other. He took note to help them out, in case things would develop any further, yet again, for the lovebirds. They deserved it, they both did, Wayne with his past, the lack of love from his real family, and Grace, still blaming herself for her younger sister's suicide, even if she still claiming she never had a sister to begin with. Only the higher-ups, Lisbon included, knew of this particular, and he knew his lovely boss wasn't going to call the younger agent on that, one of the many reasons he had…one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with her.

He gulped, stopped to chew the vegetables and drank a glass of red wine in a sec, as quickly as possible, a bit scared by his own admission. He had knew he was attracted by Lisbon- heck, he was a man, he still could say when a woman was beautiful, and she, indeed, fit the picture. But love? He hadn't been sure. Even if, maybe, he should have already understood it, with all the images of a life lived together he had witnessed right before his eyes after Carter… well, after Carter.

"Ehy, are you all right? you sure you don't want to just rest? You've been… awfully quiet today, and I know a lot is going on, but… maybe you should just take something, rest and forget it for few hours? I think I still have a couple of pills of Ambien somewhere…" she tentatively put an hand on his arm, looking at him with those green eyes, huge and brilliant like only emeralds could be, and that was when he saw it – worry, tenderness, affection and… longing, all for him.

She loved him, was in love with him, he was fully reciprocated, and now he knew for sure. He knew for sure everything, especially what she wanted. Because what she wanted, what Teresa Lisbon craved more than anything in the rest of the world, in all times, was him, all of him. And she had been lucky, because he was willing to give her just that, because having her and giving her all of him was what he wanted- and needed- as well.

Only, she didn't know it yet. But he was planning to let her know soon, very, very, soon.

He smiled, of a different smile, tender, happy, sincere, no mask on for once, and silently moved a full glass of Red Merlot to her, on the counter, with the back of his hand. "Here, enjoy it while you take your bath. The water should be at the perfect temperature for your shoulder right now, and I put in the cinnamon salts you always use. It will take a while before everything will be ready, and for once I want to spoil you senseless, woman." She blushed, and didn't add a word. She just took the glass, and keeping it against her chest with both hands, scared of letting it fall, walked towards the bathroom, smiling a secret smile.

In the kitchen, Patrick cut himself while sinful images of her getting naked, being submerged by the warm water in the tub, hit the front of his brain full force.

Soon, he told himself, very soon. It was, maybe, just a matter of hours. And then, she'd be relaxed in his arms, and he was going to be lucky enough, naked and satisfied as well. Like he hoped he was going to be. Otherwise, he'd be in need of a little privacy, and soon; preferably, somewhere far, far away from her prying eyes, and ears (He had always been a very vocal man, after all. There was no reason to believe things had changed, even if it had been a while and… and they had never experimented together, of so he could say).

He wanted her, he needed her. and he couldn't wait for everything to be over, once and for all. His sanity was at risk, and besides, he needed to let he know he was in as well, couldn't allow to get lost along the road, to not wait for him, because waiting wasn't something he was allowed to ask for her, something she had to do. But maybe, if they were on the same, she would have just walked at his side, at his same velocity.

* * *

Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, clothed in nothing fancy, almost her usual attire (a thank top, quite long, no skin on display there, and yoga pants), cast gone, completely relaxed, and, surprise, surprise given his presence in her sancta sanctorum, calm, almost….

No, not almost, he corrected himself, as he watched her taking a seat in front of him at the small table, she wasn't almost happy. Lisbon, even given the circumstances, what he had just done, what he had told her about Red John, was happy, happy because he was free, and yes, he knew that, despite her lack of admission, she was happy he was there, with her, at her side, sharing something as domestic as a meal with her (he hoped she got the hint that he was sending to hell his promise to never seduce her over a meal), as a simple meal. It wasn't something fancy, just a small plate of pasta, not even too elaborated, vegetable ratatouille and a mousse (Mayan Dark Chocolate, added with chilli, probably the only aphrodisiac threat of the whole meal) , but it was still full of meaning, of double entendre. Like when she finished a certain vegetables and he simply took it from his own plate, feeding her himself, or when he kept offering her red whine, hoping to get her tipsy but not drunk, more open and less of a prude (not that she was a prude. She had surely shown that much to Mashburn. She just played the part, for him and him alone) .

He barely resisted the urge- and need – to feed her the mousse directly from his fingers.

"Tired?" he asked her when it seemed that the evening was coming to an end. They had talked until that moment, shared good memories, opinions, anecdotes, chatting like they had never done before, opening _almost_ completely to each other, probably for the first time since they met, not like the other times he had blackmailed her, tricked her, into getting info about her past. He just didn't want to get her to talk, he wanted for her to talk with him, and he wanted to listen, wanted to be there for her to hear her out.

She gave a look at the old clock, left there from the previous owners, and shook her head, grimacing a bit. She wasn't tired, tired wasn't the right word to describe how she felt, even if, if she had to be honest, she didn't know how to actually describe how she was feeling at the moment.

She was tired, but not the kind of tired you get when you lack of sleep. She was tired… of waiting, of Red John, of being alone. Because that was the huge, dirty truth: she had been injured, and nobody was there for her, nobody cooked her a meal, nobody prepared her a warm bath, or even just asked her how she felt. Just Jane, and it was, maybe, even worse. Because she had long stopped telling herself lie after lie, had long give up to hide, even from herself, her real feelings.

She loved Patrick Jane. She was in love with Patrick Jane. She wanted and needed in her life Patrick Jane, and definitely not as a friend, and even less as a mere coworker.

She had been merely attracted to him at first. He was handsome, terribly, terribly handsome, such a perfect specimen of male with the eyes, shifting color accordingly to the light and his mood (bleu when it was a good day or he was outside, grey-green when he was closed somewhere or he wasn't exactly feeling on top) , blond curls that she bet were as soft as silk, old fashioned and a bit decadent in his manners and in his choices of style, from clothes to car, and such a know it all, but not the kind that just tells things just to annoy you. When he talked, he did it within reason, and awakening her interest. The fact he had a body to die for (probably thanks to a magnificent metabolism) was just another plus, another pros to add to the list that made Patrick Jane the perennial main character of her erotic fantasies, even during her brief relationship with Mashburn (and Mashburn represented her usual kind of man) .

First, had come the attraction, then, slowly, without that she could fight it, without she could even notice it until it was too late, it came the love. She cared for him, and had always knew that it was completely different from the kind of love that she felt for her friends, or for her brothers. She had never really been love before, not the one that brought people to fully commit, to suffer, to be ready to do and face everything. It was the kind of love, she knew, Bosco had felt for her, the kind of love her parents had shared in an happier life, the same kind of love that tied Jane with his past, drove him made with the desire of revenge (it was the kind of love who drove him to kill a crazy, bad man, a man who the world believed to be Red John, even if they knew it better).

For a long time, she had never assumed her could even remotely feel something like that, not for someone who wasn't his wife, but then, she couldn't help it, and she started to notice them, the small things, the shifts, almost imperceptible to an outsider observer, in his behavior- in his behavior towards her: warm glances, lingering touches, secret smiles, meaningful gifts, conversations made just with their eyes, that dance, on the notes of her favorite song, "More than words", faith, trust, fear for her more than for the others, and now, this, taking care of her, like just a… a boyfriend, or an husband, would do (Did he know it? Was he doing it on purpose? Was he aware of his behavior, of what being wined and dined affected her?).

She smiled, biting her lips. a bed was her first thought, sleeping the last thing on her mind. Having him, as long as possible, preferably forever, was the only thing that mattered for her.

"I'm just… painkillers took the edge of pain, but… it's not even the pain, I'm just…" billions of words crossed her mind, all the things she was feeling, all the thing she had felt, her shoulders bearing all the weight of the last few days, and not only the pain inflicted on her by the traitorous bullet of the traitorous O'Laughlin (the pain was the lesser of her problems. She wasn't even feeling it any longer).

"You are tired, but not by the lack of sleep, tired of the events, like washed out. You feel like the weight of the last weeks is finally crushing on you, now that the adrenaline is no longer running through your veins. You are tense, and obviously, worried. You are worried for me, because you still fear for my own sanity even if you are now aware that Timothy carter was a bad man and believe that he had a gun, and you fear for you, for the team, and for my life, because I told you what I think, what I know, that he is still somewhere out there waiting to make his next move." She nodded, and he offered her his hand, leaving his chair and standing up. She looked at it, then looked at him, made to gave him her won hand, then took it back just to look once again at him, gulping, a bit scared. "I know a great and effective way to make you relax fully, and forget about the pain for a while." He added, smiling, Lisbon still sat on her chair, hands in her lap.

Taking his hand would mean crossing a line, jumping a bridge, reaching a point of no return, and she had to be sure, had to be sure he was in as well, was there with her, because she couldn't survive it another time (her father broke her heart once, she couldn't survive being played, being abandoned by Jane as well).

"Teresa, trust me. Please" she shivered, and she wasn't sure why, didn't knew what made it, what convinced her to put her small hand in his bigger one, allowing him to close his fingers around her palm, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in his life. maybe it was the use of her given name, something he randomly did, or maybe it was the word, the verb, trust, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, like begging her with his eyes.

Or maybe, it was just everything, put together to create that moment, a moment with the capital "M", the moment that was gong to change them, change things between them for the rest of their lives, what she had waited for more than seven years, thinking that it was going just a dream, a stupid, naive and child fantasy bounded to never happen.

But it was going to happen, she knew it, felt from his look, his touch, the electricity in the air, filling the space and the atmosphere with static, like a tempest was coming. And maybe, just maybe, it was just like tempest, the perfect storm, going to turn them, and their world, upside down.

Maybe it was just what they needed. Maybe they were just perfect for each other, and together they could overcome their fears, their past, they could become more than the sum of one plus one (or maybe they could just decided that, in their case, one plus one was still, always, equals one).

She followed him on her couch without saying a word, without protesting, Jane walking backward, locked eyes, him offering everything, his heart on his sleeves maybe for the first time, and her taking everything, all of him, accepting him, even the darkest parts of his soul, the scarier ones, loving him not despite of them, but partly because of them, because they made Jane the man he was.

They made him her Patrick.

He made her sat on the couch, facing one of the armrests, crossed legs, her back to his chest, and she just did as he silently asked her to, following every movements he suggested in silence, his hands putting her in position, soft and warm and appetizing on her skin through the fabric of her clothes. It was erotic, it was intoxicating, and it awoke in her desire as she had never felt before, not even for him, for this very man sitting at her back, even if the touch wasn't meant to be erotic (not completely, at least), to drive her insane with want and longing and desire.

He put aside the dark locks of hair, long and soft and still infused of cinnamon and orange and vanilla (her bath essences, the ones he had prepared for her, the ones he had felt on her, sniffed on her, so, so many times since they knew each other), making them fall on her still covered breasts, and, placing a tender, and long, full of meanings, kiss on her head, he started to work on her neck with his fingers, relieving the tension, unmaking the knots, making her relax with the pressure of his warm and sexy long fingers, the callous fingertips working their magic in her.

She lifted her head and breathed, in and out, fully relaxed, like she was lost in some other world, like few hours before, in her tub, and he smiled against her hair, happy and satisfied, grinning like an idiot, a victorious idiot but an idiot nevertheless.

The strap of her top moved, and he shivered, stopping for an instant, his lips still on her hair, his fingers stalling on her skin, as he saw the full extension of her bandage. She told she was ok, she told him it was nothing. She told him the doctors gave him more or less 24 hours or so to rest, and then she'd be back full force.

He had promised her to always save her, he had promised her to always be there for her, but he hadn't. He hadn't saved her from a traitorous bullet from a traitorous O'Laughlin, wasn't there for her whole she was alone in the hospital. He was going to make up to her for this, and even for the rest, even for what hadn't happened yet… even for the rest of his life, if it was necessary.

Feeling him motionless at her back, Lisbon stilled, gulping silently, teary eyes wide open in something that she didn't know exactly how to call, how to describe, but that was extremely close to panic, to chocking; an inner battle started inside her soul, and she couldn't help but wonder, ask herself what she was supposed to do… stop him, walk away behaving like nothing happened at all, call him on his change of attitude?

She didn't know. Because she didn't know why he was stilling to begin with.

"Patrick?" she called him, using his Christian name, a rarity, her voice sounded low, hoarse, and shuddered. She barely recognized it, and she found herself wondering if someone else was there with them, because there was no way that voice was hers, but at least, whatever it was, where it come from, it worked, it awoke him, _she_ awoke him (she awoke Jane, the human being there, with her, and she awoke Patrick, the man hidden inside him, lost for so long, almost forgotten, the one that kept, from time to time, to show his head, especially if where a certain brunette was concerned, a tempting elf posing as a cop, his boss).

She lifted her head slightly, resting it in the crock of his neck, her back fully resting against his solid, warm chest, and she blushed, the breath dying in her throat when she saw a myriad of feelings, of emotions, melting into his eyes, eyes of a color she had never seen before… not blue, not green, but dark and cloudy, like a stormy sea.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

His hands slid gently and sensually over her ivory skin, along the curve of her neck and on her shoulders and her arms, lowering with his controlled movements the straps; his lips followed his hands' movements, kissing with open-mouth, wet and intoxicating erotic kisses the skin on her injured side, staying there, on the white fabric, a little longer, without an hint of pressure, just the ghost of his lips, to impregnate his memory with what has almost happened to her, what has actually happened.

She felt the moment sense of guilty took possession of the man sensually touching her. She turned in his embrace, and moved her un-injured arm around his neck, her fingers engulfed in the silk-like softness of golden curls, and took control of the situation, only wanting to send away that traitorous thought that was ruining every chance of happiness they could hope for.

With the injured arm, she started to unbutton his immaculate shirt, making quick work of the buttons, nipping with her teeth his lips whenever she felt like the pain could take the upper hand. Her finger started to trace his chest, feeling for the first time his skin for real, after she had imagined it for so long. He shivered, the contact almost alien after so many years, and gulped, parting his lips. She grinned satisfied, because it gave the perfect opportunity to conquer his mouth with her tongue.

She tasted him, feeling every corner of his mouth, and still he was unmoving, but she felt it, felt he wasn't doing it because he didn't want to, but because he no longer knew how he was supposed to do that, almost like it had become somehow foreign.

He moaned, eyes closed in bliss, He moaned, and he started to answer, finally, silently asking Lisbon to allow him the same access he had given her earlier, begging her to allow him to taste the interiors of her mouth, just wanting a tongue-to-tongue duel of the not verbal kind, all with just a mere lick of her inferior lip.

She smiled, answering silently into the affirmative to his silent request, delighted to see that her was reciprocating her simple action, that smile, but that on him felt more like a smug grin. The bastard, he knew, that she couldn't deny him anything, she had never been good at it, knew that, given her enthusiasm, the only option was a _hell, yes!,_ also because there wasn't much she could do, not when she could feel the arousal running through his blood, the heat rushing into his manhood, getting harder for her and her only.

She was doing it, her, Teresa Lisbon, agent, control freak, and quite plain woman, was making Patrick Jane losing his ever-lasting control.

She freed his curls, wondering along his body, her hand joining the other one at his waist, starting to work on his pants, on zip and belt and button, while Jane preferred to explore the skin under the top, lifting it as much as he needed to feel the texture of the skin of her stomach, and then up, up, until he had her moaning and grunting in his mouth, his thumbs stimulating her nipples, turning into hard peck while drawing little circles on her flesh through the rough fabric of her bra.

He squashed them between thumb and index when her hand found his hard length inside his boxer, feeling in the flesh his desire and need.

He lifted his body a little from the couch, giving her the chance of freeing him from the clothes, and at the same time he threw somewhere at the back of the couch the shirt, not carrying the slightest where it could land, all the while without parting their lips (it was proof that God existed, because he couldn't bear the thought of parting from her, he needed her, needed to know she was still there, alive, needed her to know he was there with her and free). Lisbon enthusiastically accepted the challenge, and in no time, Jane felt himself completely naked, at her mercy.

He leaned back, hands crossed at the back of his head, displaying without a hint of fear or shame his body, allowing Lisbon to study him, to caress him with her eyes, with her soft gaze, and she did, all the while wetting her lips, foretasting the moment they'd become one, glued to a certain point of his anatomy she had never seen before, never thought he'd allow her to see, not in million of years. But still, here they were, on the verge of taking a huge step.

Her back against the armrest, she lifted her eyebrows a little, quizzically, curious, trying to look at his eyes and not notice how glorious he was, golden curls, soft, almost invisible, all over his body, tiny nipples begging to be sucked into her mouth to form moans of pleasure, and his erection, huge, looking like pure, warm steel, ready to be felt inside and around her.

She tried to alleviate the tension between her legs by shifting position, hoping he would do something about it. she needed release, her had turned her on and now he had to turn her off. And he wasn't touching her, not any longer, he was naked and she was still fully clothed, and he wasn't doing anything about it.

He laughed, eyes almost closed, shaking his head (she pouted, making it all the more attracting). "That's not how is going to work, my dear. You are the injured party, and I don't want to make it worse. We'll do whatever you want to do- both willingly – but on two conditions. One: considering your injury, I'd prefer if you could take care of the undressing on your own…."

She huffed, but smiled, shaking her head slightly, half amused half in disbelief, and quickly lifted the tank top over her head, grimacing a bit when the shoulder pretested, and made quick work of pants as well, remaining only in lingerie in front of Jane, a matching set, beige with small flowers, quite romantic and girly. "You know, if you wanted a striptease, you just had to ask, _Jane_ …" his name rolled erotically on her tongues, and he didn't know what was sexier, if that or his given name. he found out he didn't care, though, so intent in studying her lingerie-clad body, front clasp and culottes, a seductive contrast that did nothing than fueled his desire, and she knew, oh, she definitely knew, and was bathing in the sensation "Is there anything that Jane likes?" she teased, still pouting. He didn't know if he was supposed to love or hate that grin, because of how he aroused him, and sometime, it wasn't exactly a good idea, sometimes it wasn't the right time (but not now, now it was, definitely).

"Well, actually, Jane thinks he'll like more what's underneath those little pieces of fabric…"

She got naked, just like that, and he gulped, seeing all that… the perfect breasts, big enough to be cupped by his hands, and the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, on her groin, so soft and luscious at first sight. "I said you just had to ask…." She said, trying to sound as a real seductress, but looking at him looking at her got her blushing, especially when she saw where his gaze was going, her parting legs, her glistering entrance. "What about the second condition?"

He closed his eyes, inspiring deeply her scent, the perfume of her arousal, so deep he could feel it from where he was standing, and she shivered, , wondering what that condition could be, but she wasn't scared, she was thrilled.

Besides, she was willing to do everything for, with and to this man.

He scooped down, sitting against the armrest opposite to hers, eyes locked with hers, offering his hands to Lisbon, again asking her to trust him, but this time with no question at all (they had never needed too many words, they knew each other well enough to not need them). "I told you, you're the injured party here and I don't want to make it worse. If you want me, woman, well, I fear that you'll have to give up for now that fantasy of yours that saw me as your dominator and stay on top as you do with all the other men…" he laughed, and she slapped him on the arm, faking indignation (she couldn't be really mad, it was true, all completely true). But she still took his hands, straddling him, her legs both sides of his body, his hard length teasing her entrance, making her shudder in delight and need.

She was so close…. She knew she couldn't last long.

As he entered her into one sure movement, immediately to the hilt so wet she was already, his hands went at her hips, holding her so tightly she could already see the bruises that would appear in due time, and his lips attacked immediately her breasts, biting the tender tissue of her nipples while she lifted her head and moaned, her nose breathing into his scent, nuzzling his curls, sweat already covering their bodies with a tiny veil while he entered her to the hilt, stalling for a moment to enjoy the sensation, to forge it into his memory.

He guessed that the sounds she was making were ones of complaints.

He grinned, and started to thrust, moving inside of her, up and down, up and down, slowly, leaving her core just to come back inside her just as slowly as before, never giving her too much of himself, never touching that point inside of her she craved to be touched, needed to be touched to relieve the tension built in the last… well, in a while (she wasn't going to feed his ego further more by telling him she had wanted to drag him to bed since the moment she had lied eyes on her new consultant).

She kept whimpering, never, though, actually vocalizing her request of going faster, of taking her harder (he wasn't supposed to need that. He was supposed to know that. He was a mentalist, he was supposed to be able to paly her like a guitar).

He grinned. And impaled her. Literally. He pulled her closer to him, and quickened his pace, and, holding her gaze, just like that, he saw it, them, the signs. Her inner muscles constricted around him, milking him dry, demanding his warm balm of release, and couldn't help it, knew it was soon, hadn't last long, but he just had to. it had been too long, and she was too much, and so, when he saw her face contorted in a silent scream of primordial pleasure, her fingernails marking his naked shoulders, he followed her, reaching just few instants after Lisbon the edge of pleasure, an orgasm that he felt in every fiber of his body.

He empties his seed into her, and she forced him to abandon her breasts, forced him to lift his head, his lips to meet hers in a powerful kiss that had them moaning into each other's mouth while they rod out their high. Eventually, he collapsed, spread on the couch, still naked, a bit cold but giving a damn about him, focusing only on Lisbon, who followed, resting her weight on his body, a comfortable position for both of them, familiar.

She starting drawing lazy, invisible circles on his chest, thinking silently about something but loud enough for a mentalist like him to know.

"You know, when I told you I wanted to make you relax, I was talking about hypnotizing you into forgetting about the pain" she laughed, her laughter reverberating through his chest, all the way to his heart. He started to play with her curls, and turned serious after just a matter of seconds. "I'm not going to disappear in the morning, Lisbon, neither I'm going to forget or regret this or pretend it never happened".

She lifted her head and studied his features for few, interminable, instants, skimming over his sun-kissed skin. She placed a soft, lingering kiss, a mere peck ma voluptuous nevertheless, on his parted lips, which got him to close his eyes to increase the sensation. "good." She smiled, trying to increase it, to deepen the kiss. He wanted to tell her something, but when her wandering hands started to be all over him, he forgot about everything but her.

Maybe it wasn't important. Not as important as making her happy and satisfied, at least.


	7. The real deal

She walked right into the hotel room, without bothering to ask for permission first- there was no need to, after all, she was supposed to be part of the team who was looking after Erika Flynn – with her eyes focused on the pieces of paper in her hands, the last piece of evidence need to solve the murder and frame the man Jane and the "Black Widow"/Former queen of matchmaking had decided was guilty.

"Jane, I think you'll find interesting finding out that…." She stopped in the bedroom, and immediately froze on the spot, for she couldn't believe she was actually seen what she was witnessing: Flynn's hands on Jane's chest, the man's eyes closed, and his head slightly turned, like to give a woman better access-access to his lips.

The two parted immediately, Jane kept looking at the floor, clearly uneasy what was happening, or almost did, while Mrs. Flynn simply grinned evilly, maliciously and yes, even with a note of triumph, towering over Lisbon with her height, with her stiletto heels and her beauty, security and power. For the woman used to be good at what she did, and had red Lisbon all over, clearly understanding that she was attracted to the consultant. Having him was a victory against both her opponents, the cop and the man who claimed to be still married.

"Oh" was the only thing that left her mouth for a while, Lisbon's only focus her old, plain loafers, not the beautiful black and stylish stilettos Erika wore every day. The cop really did felt like pacing, but couldn't, wasn't going to fall so low, not in front of Erika, for she knew the woman wanted to beat her, and because of Jane, for admitting her attraction to him would destroy their relationship, as colleagues and as friends, and she couldn't allow to lose him, not yet. "Uh, Sorry. Anyway, I'll leave the papers here. Let me know what you think." she smiled of a forced smile and, before he could stop her, she left the room, walking calmly, placid even, showing no trace of emotion if nit the embarrassment of having caught a couple in a moment of intimacy of some kind, Jane still motionless and speechless in the room.

As closed the door with a sounding thund, and as soon as she was out, she finally allowed nausea to take over, feeling the bile rising in her throat; she kept an hand on her mouth to make sure nothing bad would happen, and then, only then, she left out the traitorous tears, sobbing while she run towards her room, the only place she knew she was going to be safe. Because Teresa Lisbon needed to lick her wounds in private, mourning the love of a man she never had to begin with, the love she felt for a man who had sworn blood and vengeance to the ghost of his long-lost beloved wife, a wife who had been as beautiful and angelic in her life, as gorgeous and icy Mrs. Flynn was. And Teresa Lisbon wasn't angelic, wasn't beautifully icy with stylish clothes. Teresa Lisbon was a cop, maybe not any longer so on the book as she used to be, but still a cop, and a tomboy, who dressed with no mention of style, but just considering her paycheck.

She definitely wasn't Patrick Jane's kind of woman. She should just stop thinking about him, for all he was going to cause her was heartache, and the kiss he had shared, or almost shared, she didn't know and she didn't want to know, with Erika Flynn had been already too much for her, causing the woman to go through hell and back every day she repeated the scene in her mind.

Yes, she should have considered the idea of stop thinking about Patrick Jane.

TM-TM-TM-TM-TM

As soon as she had reached her room, she changed into her jersey on autopilot, and then, only then, like an emotionless and empty robot, she collapsed on the bed, crying herself to exhaustion, trying to force herself to stop thinking about Jane. Only, she couldn't; every time she tried to, here he was, invading her mind and fantasies, and everything she could see, was his smile, so beautiful and full of hope at times, and the way he looked with his immaculate 3 pieces, and… why couldn't she stop thinking about that damn party at the CBI, over two years prior, and his tuxedo?

She shut her eyes closed, and, unwillingly, an image of him came there full force in the front of her mind; Jane, dancing with her, holding her in his arms. She had thought about that dance for a long time, and every time she did, a fantasy and not reality made itself known; she didn't see them parting way, but, often, if not always, she imagined their bodies pressed together, one against the other, and in her mind, in her fantasy, she could feel his erection, huge and demanding, pressed against her body, she could feel Jane biting her lobe, kissing open-mouthed her neck and her chin, letting her know without words what he wanted from her, and that he wasn't going to take no as an answer. And, like all those times she thought about Jane screwing her senseless, her vibrator magically found its way in her hand.

The toy come to life as soon as she turned it on, and she looked at the tip of the fake penis with fascination and a mix of reverence, wondering if that was how Jane looked like without any clothes on; she immediately pushed the thought away, for she was scared that Erika Flynn was going to discover that by herself.

She gently rubbed it over her leg, starting with the calf, enjoying the stimulation, feeling like someone was tickling her with soft fingers, like a lover's caress; the sensation only progressed as she moved further, and got there, to her throbbing center, wet with desire for a man who wouldn't satisfy her, couldn't.

She parted her legs furthermore, as much as she could, and tilted her hips at the same time to get as much as the toy as she could; two fingers from her free hand helped her pout in the stimulation, opening her labia for the toy to enter, and putting a little pressure on the bundle of nerves as the toy entered into her slowly, very slowly, until, after a couple of minutes of in and out, it finally was where she wanted it to be, inside her to the hill, filling her in a way that she could only definite as perfect.

She moaned, the tip of her tongue coming out to lick her full, luscious lips, and she eased the toy out of her, until only the tip remained in her channel; an image of Jane, pleasuring her with his fingers , possessed her, and she picked up speed, gliding and thrusting with more force every time the fake cock left her body just to take her, claim her again and again. She wasn't any longer concentrating on reality, reality just wasn't there, didn't matter any longer, it was just her, the Jane in her mind, and the silly piece of plastic in her hands, doing marvelous and sinfully erotic things to her.

She firmly closed her eyes, and slowly she slid along the bed, until she wasn't any longer sat but was lying down on the sheets; she closed her eyes as her head hit the pillow, her hips lifted on their own volition, meeting each of her own strokes- the stokes of her silly piece of plastic, the fake Jane of her dreams. She moved her free thumb to her clit, moving over it again and again, rubbing against it with the toy as well, until it was just too much, and the toy and the fantasy-Jane, the one she was picturing in her mind, did just the same: made her orgasm, her body stilling because of the intense sensation, eyes snapping open as only a word left her trembling lips, his name, Jane, huskily cried in an a silent cry of pleasure and ecstasy.

And then, still panting, coming down from such an incredible height, she saw him, standing still at the feet of the bed, rigid, eyes wide open, dilated pupils, his heartbeat so strong she could see from the distance his pulse point on his neck, he was sweating, and she could tell from his tenting pants he had looked at her the whole time, and had enjoyed it. For he was hard, hard an huge.

But it didn't matter, because, just minutes before, he had been kissing another one. She couldn't forget it, couldn't forgive him. Or… why was he there? And why had he looked? She wanted to know, and yet, at the same time, she didn't, for she didn't just lusted after Patrick Jane. No, it was far more worse: she loved him, and craved him, all of him, didn't matter how broken he was, didn't matter if the only thing he was willingly to offer was his friendship, so be it. She wanted him to be happy, right? Then, it wasn't supposed to mean so much whom he found happiness with, even if… even if he could so much better than a manipulative murderer.

She put back the jersey right in place, trying to look as much casual and cool as she couldn't, but she was finding it very hard, with Jane still looking at her with those azure, huge eyes and in complete silence. He was throwing off balance- which wasn't such a novelty – but being caught red-handed…

"Jane" she simply said, closing her eyes and gulping down a mouthful of saliva, sitting on the bed at crossed legs facing him, hoping in some kind of response from the man. And a response he gave her, only, not like she thought.

In a second, he was on her, and Lisbon was finding herself again lying on the bed, but this time, it was Jane's strong and welcome and hot weight on her pinning her down; his lips were murderous on her won, taking and claiming, devouring her, his erection hard and huge against her abdomen, while his hands, scared by the possibility of rejection, pinned her wrists upon her head, using strength enough to make her understand he meant business but not enough to restrain her in case she wasn't interested.

He nuzzled affectionately her neck, still kissing her, without allowing his lips to move away from the long awaited prey; when he spoke, he did with such a tenderness, and at the same time, fear, she couldn't help but cry a tear. "You think I was going to allow her to be with me, or even… just kiss me? Oh, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, my silly Teresa… a man doesn't wait over 8 years to break his celibacy to do so with the first murderer…" a lazy smiled graced his features, and she couldn't help but laugh a little.

He lifted his face, again his lips against Lisbon's, this time, though, it was a slow encounter, like they were finally getting to know each other, like they were comfortable and in peace, not any longer in such a rush, it was something that wasn't merely speaking of passion, desire and lust, but of emotions as well. For the first time in a long while, Lisbon felt like she was truly connecting with someone, like she was finally being loved, in the truest sense of the word.

"Jane, I…" he had called her by her given name, and on his lips, the sound had been like liquid ambrosia, but still, she couldn't avoid calling him "Jane". The man, though, didn't get irritated by that, he simply smiled, nuzzling her skin once again, shaking his head while a single finger gently skimmed her whole body, suddenly and mysteriously naked.

"You know, honey, I just wanted to talk with you, reassure you that I didn't want to have anything to do with that awful woman because I needed someone to trust and I just knew the gal … but you weren't answering, and when I picked up the lock, I saw…. _This._ This is the most erotic thing I had ever seen, and when I heard you calling my name while coming, all my good intentions left."

He lowered, grinning against her ivory skin, the zip of his trousers, and freed his throbbing member, his hard cock glistening with luminescent drops of pre-cum on his tip; she lowered her eyes to that particular and prominent part of his anatomy, and smiled, giving a glance to her toy, nothing in comparison to the real deal right before her eyes. She grinned, and so did he. "Does Agent Lisbon like what she sees?"

In response, she lifted her hips, allowing them to touch his body, that jerked because of the close contact; it was her time to grin in answer. "Did I find something that Mr. Jane likes?" she asked while she took control of the situation, kissing him on the lips and on the chin, feeling the subtle and rough stubble scratching her, marking her with slight, red marks; she unbuttoned, slowly and without any impatience, his vests and his shirt, freeing the last from the trousers, and without actually removing both articles of clothes, she started to fond his abdomens, the skin at his back, feeling his heat radiating from the strong and muscular body, kissed by the rays of the Californian sun.

He grunted, keeping his eyes and mouth shout as she kept heavenly torturing him, and while biting his lobe, she spoke in a low, huskily voice. "Yes, I definitely found something that Mr. Jane likes." And with so, she took possession of his member, milking it up and down few times, feeling the veins pulsating beneath her fingertips, the flesh getting harder and bigger in her hand.

"Sweetheart, please… that's not how I want…. to make love to you" She stopped in her track hearing him saying so, she wasn't expecting that choice of words, for Jane still considered himself a married man, and everybody was aware of the love and devotion he had always felt for his late wife; Lisbon released his flesh, and got back into a sitting position, putting some distance between them, and suddenly, she felt exposed, uneasy in her state of undress, almost ashamed of it.

Her eyes fell on the wedding band, still shining on his left ring finger as visible as ever, manifest to the fact he didn't know what he was doing, that he probably didn't mean what he had told her, that it had all been a game for him, another chance at manipulating one of his favorite pawns, but a pawn nevertheless; he immediately understood her reasoning, and decided to convince her it wasn't all a game; he reached for her, cupping her face with his hands, lifting her chin to force eye-contact so that she could hear him out and see the honesty behind his words and understand him.

"That's not what you think, love. I've been obsessed with you for a long time, but I didn't know that you… but now, I can't deny you myself any longer, if we both want it… maybe…maybe…" he gasped for air, suddenly at loss, almost in tears for this heartbreaking confession; she saw and felt the sincerity, and cupped his face with her hands, erasing the tears with her soft and warm thumbs, suddenly not giving a damn any longer about the ring on his finger. "It's just… I need to remember that it's my fault as well, that he'll… _somehow_ pay and that… that I could lose you all in an heartbeat." She simply nodded, and joined him in his tears, while he resumed kissing her with as much as fervor as the first kiss they had shared mere minutes before, his flesh coming back to life, blood again hardening his length. "This is good, this is right…. I want to be happy. Will you be happy with me?"

She couldn't say no to this, to him; his sweet, sinful ministrations of his lips and hands on her painfully aroused body were just an added bonus. Out of breath, moaning while he caressed her skin with strong and callous hands and his lips kept claiming her again and again with soft bites, she simply nodded her approval. Like Jane himself, she couldn't deny him herself, body and soul, not if it was what both wanted, as far as they were willingly to keep it up.

"Then… allow me to make you happy, Teresa." He bit her lobe one last time, grinning in a way that almost scared her, a memory of all the troubles he always caused at work, but, after he got naked and they parted with one last lingering peck on the lips, she got an idea of what the man had in store for her; she grinned in appreciation as he sat on the cold floor, his hands hot on her calves while he rubbed her feet warming them up; he slowly made her slide on the bed, so that her hot core wet for him was at level with his mouth, so, so dangerously close to him she could feel his hot breath over there. "Hey there, hello. Nice to finally meet, I've been dying to get to know you". He chuckled.

He licked her labia, slowly, without stopping eye-contact, and kissed them like he were to kiss her mouth, sucking the clitoris in his mouth, careful to not use any teeth, well aware of how sensitive she was, especially after an orgasm, and only later he finally thrust his tongue inside, fucking her lazily fist, and harder and harder, picking up speed as he proceeded with his love-making. Few minutes, and she came, crying out her pleasure with eyes wide open and his hair in her hands, her inner walls contracting around his tongue, sweet honey covering his taste buds.

He helped Lisbon out to come back to the headboard while she was still panting, her body a sack of potatoes with no energy or want left, then he joined her on the bed, leaning on his side facing her. "That good, uh?" he cockily asked her with smug arrogance, eyes shining in happiness and desire. She lost herself in them for a second, then, couldn't help but laugh and then kiss him, as sweetly as possible, conjuring all her emotions in that single kiss. "Oh, C'mon, don't thank me yet! That was just foreplay!"

"Uhm, I wonder what the real deal will feel like…" her lips found again the skin of his chin, and her hand his still impressive erection, spanning his penis and milking it like she had done before; he was hard and huge, so hard and huge Lisbon thought he probably was in pain.

"Like this…" he huskily whispered, and took her by surprise once again; Lisbon had never though Jane capable of tackling someone, but he did just that, and in a matter of seconds, if not less, she found herself gasping as he had took her for the hips and "forced" her to straddle him, her legs open for his intrusion while he entered her to the hilt at first thrust.

She felt Jane going rigid, and wondered if, maybe, he wasn't regretting it, or if maybe it had been so long since last time he wasn't sure or capable of already performing; her hand found again his face, and she caressed him, looking into his eyes, ready to postpone their mating ritual, but he took her for the wrist and shook his head, no. "Just… I need a minute, ok? It's been… a while."

She nodded, tears forming into her eyes as she remembered what he had told her before when he come into the room: Jane hadn't been with anyone since his wife. It had been over 8 years, and he choose her. It was… it was some kind of precious gift, like… she smiled at the idea that it was a bit like he had choose her to lost his virginity- a thing he had done, in a certain sense.

She needed to help him out.

She ran her hands through her hairs, and then she run them over her whole body, applying special attention to her breasts; she pinched the nipples and played with them until they were hard pecks, and then palmed her whole breasts, keeping torturing them in a sinfully erotic way; she couldn't help but moan, and she kept looking at Jane, lost in his eyes, Jane, still rigid under her, who was looking at her, and it was the most erotic thing she had ever witnessed, so erotic and arousing she almost come there and there.

While she bit her lips, her hands traveled south, and she found herself doing the same things Jane had witnessed her doing before, only, instead of a silly piece of plastic, she was using her won fingers; one hand parted her lips, while other two fingers entered her to the hilt, while she kept pressing on her aroused clitoris with the heel of her hand. She thrust inside and out few times, but when she come, it was because of the combined sensation of his hard cock inside her, her fingers keeping touching it, and her fingers moving in her body.

When her muscles contracted around his unmoving cock and her fingers, she came crying out his name, and only then he started to move. Lisbon was still doing the majority of the job, keeping pleasuring herself and meeting him thrust for thrust at the same time; her lips were parted in a silent "O", broken, once in a while, by a litany of "Oh", "Ah" and "Mmmmm…" that kept increasing in lieu of her appreciation.

He put his hands under her ass, and helped her keeping the rhythm; he could feel she was close, could feel her inner muscles on the verge of milking his member, begging for his release; he sat slightly, appreciating even more her breasts bouncing and rubbed in his face, and when he felt himself there, the sensation of taking Lisbon intensified by his penis feeling her fingers every time he left her heat just to come back to take her, he buried his face just there, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking it like he was a baby in desperate need of milk: it was too much, it had been too long, and Jane came in her, his liquid heat, his very essence, triggering another orgasm for Lisbon, another orgasm that made nothing if not intensifying his own release.

They collapsed one on top of the other, both gasping for air, and only when they had been both returned from their incredible height they finally allowed themselves to part, Lisbon's head resting on his chest; she kissed him there, drawing imaginary figures on his toned skin, and when he covered them with a blanket, he tenderly kissed the top of her head, keeping her even closer, tightening the grip around her waist, like she was some kind of life-line.

They fell asleep fast, and he slept, for hours and hours, for regret and guilt never surfaced, like he had feared when he had first touched that beautiful woman in his arms.

His last thought wasn't, like often in the past, for Red John, but for the kisses he was going to use to wake her up in the morning.


	8. Sithophilia

_Sitophilia: a sexual fetishism in which participants are aroused by erotic situations involving food._

Sitting in front of Lisbon at their favorite cafe, he wonders if she is aware of what she is doing, if she knows the effect she is having on him. And… well, it's not just that he doesn't appreciate it,, but… there are few settings where he could enjoy this particular happening a little bit more, and here, in public, with Lisbon on display…

He doesn't like it. He hates sharing, and when it comes to her, it's even worse. Especially now.

She takes another spoon of white ice cream, and, closing her eyes, she eats it, lips thigh around the metal, moaning with closed eyes while she lifts her head enough to give him a good view of her neck, long and soft and creamy, almost as pale as the cream she is eating right now.

It's almost indecent. But, still, he can't help it. He keeps looking at her, eyes wide open, gulping. And he is pretty sure that everyone is seeing his dilated pupils, can see the beat of his heart on his pulse point there, on his neck, they can see him sweating and trembling for the excitation.

He bites his lips because he can't moan, even if he wants to, because this is just too much, and it's just too perfect, and when she sighs in pleasure, he feels it, the blood going south, liquid heat in his groin, desire and need coming together as he fights the urge to jumps her then and there.

He doesn't think Lisbon would appreciate a quick fuck out in the open, in front of few hundred people. He isn't sure she'd mind that much sitting on the table while going at it, though. Or maybe…

"Jane? you all right?" he looks at her, lost in his world- Lisbon-land, as he calls it (or even better, Lisbon lustful land)- and he grimaces, almost in pain. It's getting a bit too much to bear. He can't take her pout, everything but not the pout. The pout… it's just too adorable, to sexy, and if he looks at her lips… he knows what it will happen if he'll start looking at her lips, he'll start imagining kissing her, making her lips full and turgid, and it'0s not fair. He shouldn't torture himself so much, and she shouldn't as well, doesn't matter she doesn't know. She is supposed to be a saint. A saint should be off limit, and shouldn't awakens after almost a decade of abstinence a burning need in his body to have her, brand her as his own with teeth, tongue and fingers and his cock. He shouldn't want her.

But he does.

"Jane?" she calls him again. He gulps, and shakes his head like to clear his thoughts, thinking, hoping that all this talking about death and tombs will let her think he is somehow troubled confused, even hurt, maybe trapped by memories. The way she looks at him with sad eyes, lowering immediately her face, whispering a quiet "oh" makes him understand that he has been right. Lisbon believes him to be in the past, she believes him to be trapped in the instant he had to choose what was supposed to written on his family's tombs- she doesn't know he put just their names.

"You…. Uhm… you have some ice cream…." He indicates her upper lip, so full, so red, as red as the cherry he ate on top of the white mountain of sugary sweetness, and he hopes she can't see how he is trembling, how unsure he is. Almost scared.

He hasn't wanted a woman in almost a decade, and lately, having Lisbon all for himself, naked in a bed high from the endorphins released from a mind-blowing orgasm seems to be the only thing he can think of… well, actually, not all the images he has of her high after a mind blowing orgasm, caused by him and him alone, involve a bed. Actually, just few of them do, if he wanted to be completely honest. Sometimes, his favorite setting is the CBI, and he thinks of quickies, still almost completely dressed, in the bathrooms or on her couch (or even better: he likes thinking of taking her against a wall, the wall of her office, forcing Lisbon to bite on his hand to suppress her cry of ecstasy).

Sometimes, he dreams of her, calling him in her office, and he can see Lisbon handcuffing him to the chair, and free his murderous erection from the confines of his trousers. Those times, she gets naked for him, completely, slowly, seductively, like a professional strip-tease.

In those dreams, she straddles his lap, and she takes him inside her tiny body, to the hilt, with a slow and sensual movement, singing a series of "oh", "hum", "ah" and purring like a nasty kitty, sounds of pleasure and surprise when she realizes how well endowed her soon to be lover is. She rides him, in those fantasies, fucking him into oblivion, leaving nothing of him, moving her hips on his sensually and slowly – to sensually torture him, prolonging the pleasure and at the same time the pain of the need- almost forcing him to not come (he can't, she is his mistress), his head buried between her breasts, lips and teeth busy in biting and licking and sucking the tender skin, hardening beyond comprehension the soft, exquisite blooms that are her nipples, her hands buried in his curls, exploring the soft texture, massaging his scalp and yet, at the same time, keeping him close, oh so close to her chest, as close as possible, no space between their bodies, until they can't take it any longer, the both of them, and she uses her yoga tricks (yes, she knows them, and he knows she does) to constrict her inner muscles around Jane's thrusting shaft, and the feel of him, hardening, widening further more into her tiny body is too much, and she'd want to scream, but she can't, she knows she can't, not with the office out there, everybody behaving like they do normally because they are going on with their lives like they always do, so while Jane bits her breast, marking her like his own property with the mark of his mouth, she does the same with her own flesh, barely making it, her motionless Jane's signal that it's ok for him to let it go, also because… because it's too much. The sight of Lisbon, coming because of him, around him, it's too much, and biting one last time her breast, he erupts into her, hot spurs of balmy and creamy liquid, his very essence, all for her, all because of her, running in rivulets across their joined bodies…

"You know, this case has been less fun than we originally predicted, and we are both pretty wasted…" he lifts his eyes, his mouth still open. It's not her office. He has imagined everything, like he often does. Teresa Lisbon is in front of him, sure, but she is fully clothed, and they are in a cafe, eating ice cream. Ice cream. The same ice cream that is still on her upper lips -If she doesn't do something about it soon enough, he'll kiss it away, he swears…

"Lisbon, you still…" he motions with his fingers to show her where the creamy spot was, lost, though, in the sight of her. He knows it's wrong, for so many reasons, and, moreover, he knows he shouldn't look this… frail, moved, affected, but he can't help it -Teresa Lisbon is a sight for sore eyes, a sexy vision for sore eyes, a living contrast, such an incredible strength, such a power and determination, authority, inside a oh so tiny body (is everything so tiny about her?).

At her next actions, he gulps, his heart… he isn't sure if it just stopped or is beating so quickly, on the verge of exploding, that he can't feel it any longer.

She traces, slowly, oh so slowly, her upper lip with her right index finger, and then, her tongue- tiny like everything about Lisbon, of the most pink shade of pink, comes out to play, and with the tip, she licks her fingertip first and her mouth later, eyelids heavy, almost closed… eyes that she closes in bliss, moaning at closed mouth, when she swallow her digit, not too much, but enough.

He groans, his head almost hitting the table out of frustration, his erection now too big to be hide, too noticeable. He'll have to remove the jacket, he already knows, and walk with the piece of clothing in front of himself, hoping to manage to keep his dignity intact- it's not his fault, it's her, hers only, because seeing her tongue coming out to play, he just imagined… he imagined himself spread, naked, on her kitchen table, dessert as to say, Teresa towering over him, licking the ice cream, but not from her finger, but from his burning cock, blazing aflame with the passion, her tongue tracing the veins, licking it clean, tip to balls, sucking his tip like it was a lollipop, her tongue in the tiny line at the top, forcing him to give her his pre-cum, and then, swallowing him as deep as possible to erase any trace of candy from him, feeling himself pulsing inside her while he touch her throat, and Lisbon sucking him hard, quickly, up and down, up and down, her tongue still circling him, and then, coming, fucking her mouth with tiny movements will he spouts his seed into her, and Teresa moans, desperate to have more, again, again, more seed, angling her head to give him better access to her mouth, a new, improved, angle, so much come that she couldn't swallow all, falling into tiny rivulets from the angles of her lips….

Or maybe…

He can see the other way around. He can see Lisbon being the one completely naked on the table, hips on the edge, the cold of glass a strange, but not completely unwelcome, contrast with her skin, burning, in flames, sweat from every pore of her body, breathing heavy, foretasting what's to come.

Around his neck, not her arms, but legs, her calves interlaced at his back, her feet caressing teasingly and sensually his still shirt-clad bust, her hands searching desperately for something to hold onto, but finding nothing- she can't reach his head in this position, and there's nothing covering her table if not her naked form.

She reaches for her breasts, at the end, even if they were supposed to be for him; she pinches between thumb and index the nipples, like they were to spread some kind of juice, and then, she cups, them, fully, taking them into her hands, as much s possible, spreading the cream that's there all over her torso, rubbing it all over there- she isn't thinking of the ice-cream, isn't seeing it, what she is imagining it's his come on her skin.

His mouth is busy between her legs.

She whimpers under him, bucking her hips against his face while he licks clean her entrance with long, slow movements of his tongue, the same entrance that he has previously sprayed with ice cream, a cherry on top. His nose nuzzles her pubes, the tip dirty with a tear of white sweetness.

He thrusts into her with his tongue, and at the same time he penetrate her with his fingers, his thumb pressing on her clit all the time, keeping her there, in an eternal state of pre-orgasm. She keeps being almost there, but he doesn't allow her to come, doesn't make her.

He spread his legs, and with his free hand, he unbuckled his pants, he frees his cock. He keeps pleasuring her, and, at the same time, with one hand, he pleasures himself, pumping in tempo with the exhilarating movements of the other hand and of his tongue. He spans his own cock with his hand, fingers moving up and won on his skin, hard as steel, so hard it's almost touching his stomach, and he spreads his pre-come on himself.

It's great, it's like nothing he has ever felt before, so much pleasure floating through his own self, like fire, like a river during a storm. He needs her, and he feels like he'll never have enough of her, of what they are doing together. He'll never have his fill of Teresa Lisbon and her marvelous, spicy juices.

He feels her juices covering his tongue, and he drinks her in, and in the same instant, his hands is covered with his own seed, hot, creamy, balmy. He doesn't stoop to devour her, like he doesn't stop to pump his cock, keeping coming, more and more, until something even ends on her skin, and she reaches for it, playing with it, spreading it all over she can…

"Ok, you know, I hope you'll not space out as well while you'll be driving…" she grins, smiling, trying to lower the tension (she thinks his heart is troubled by terrible visions of sufferance) and then stands up, taking her jacket before leaving. "I swear, Jane, I don't know what got into today…"

He stands as well, grinning, yes, but one of his sad smiles (or at least so she thinks; he is just in so much physical pain…), his jacket folded in front of him to cover his groin while he walks; he tells her just a word before disappearing inside the elevator. "Sitophilia" -she looks at him quizzically, lifted eyebrows, adorable put, already thinking about checking the dictionary when she'll be at home.

He quickly comes back to the office, ready to run to hide into the attic. He feels his beloved cavern calling for him, remembering him that he is in dire need of a decent jerk-off- he knows that when he'll come into his hand, he'll think of her hand spanning his cock…He hopes it will be enough. He doubts it, though, but he knows he still has to do it, as "unpleasant" as it is- it's not like he can spend the entire day walking with his jacket in front of him, in winter, and besides, he tends to be a little distracted and out of focus when he is that hard.

And suddenly, as he smirks his mischievous smile, his cat-got-the canary smile, all he can think of is stopping by at an ice cream vendor. Before visiting Lisbon, of course.

She goes home when it's already late- she told Jane she was calling it a night, but the office called first, apparently, and paperwork as well (apparently, the boss, even if he is a fan, still thinks that there's a hell of a lot of paperwork to resurrect a man, previously declared dead. More or less.).

She walks through the door, barely standing, craving a shower and a her night attire (her jersey, a short pair of shorts, or maybe just panties if she feels like. And this night, she definitely feels like), the dictionary completely forgotten. She doesn't even care too much. Jane, is, well, he is Jane. She doesn't give too much thought to what he does or says, he is a living encyclopedia (a sexy, living encyclopedia) and he always says the most random things. So, probably, he just told her the first word that come to his mind to elude the fact that he was day-dreaming, lost in thoughts, or who knows where….She hopes it was a nice place, though. He suffered enough, and he deserves to be free, Red John or not.

It's another hour before curiosity gets the better out of her. She is casually walking through her living room, putting back in place everything, hair still damp, naturally curled, skin soft, with the scent of vanilla. And she doesn't even do that in purpose. It'0s not like she decides to give a look at the dictionary, quite the opposite. She searches for the word because the dictionary happens to be one of the things she is supposed to put back where it belongs. So, she sits on the couch, sipping a bit of red wine from her glass, all the while flipping through the book, until here it is, the word he uttered early the day.

She almost spits the beverage when she reads the definition, and the possibility that it has been random, it stops to cross her mind. It's impossible, but yet again, she can't believe that it's true, also because if it's true…

_Sitophilia: a sexual fetishism in which participants are aroused by erotic situations involving food._

Food. They were eating when he said the word. They were having ice cream. And Sitophilia involves sex. And food. And Jane connected their food… the ice cream… to… to something sexual…related… maybe… to her?

She blushes like a schoolgirl, but grinning, almost giggling. Now she understands why he kept spacing out and mostly why, in December, he removed his jacket to keep it in front of himself. It's not because he is weird… it was because…. Because he was aroused by her and the ice cream. (Oh lord. She is almost mad with him. She can't believe he kept for himself the sight of his primary attributes…)

Dictionary and wine forgotten on the table, she sits, stretching, on her couch, closing her eyes and already moaning as one hand lifts her jersey, revealing her naked breasts, nipples already hard out of desire, while the other massages her taunt abdomen, caressing the skin around her navel, descending until the hem of her panties, electric blue lace and silk. She plays with the soft material, while she pinches her nipples, unaware that the same day Jane day-dreamed of her doing the same, and then she cups her breast with her tiny hand- it's full, rounded, creamy, big but still proportioned to her body.

She gasps when, finally, with one finger, she skims over her folds, her panties still on, wet with desire. She plays there for a while, like torturing herself, and then, she does it. She inserts in her tiny entrance two fingers, her thumb massaging her clit, pressing on it with her arc of her hand. She keeps them still for a while, and she even whimpers in despair, like it was her lover standing still inside her, and then, she moves, she thrusts her fingers inside her, in and out, hard, fast, restless, movements quicker and quicker, her back arching, head thrashing, lips parted, moaning at loud, her walls almost there, she can feel it, her walls almost there, almost contracting around her fingers. Even if it's not her fingers she sees with the third eye, the one of the imagination. Because, in her mind, she is sitting in Jane's lap, his erection, huge, hard, is pressed against her back, and he is pleasuring her with his fingers, long, slender, elegant fingers, made for pleasuring…. She is second to her orgasm, the pleasure running through her veins, when she gasps, hearing at sound at her back, a noise…. Breathing, heavy, irregular, and a scent. Jane's cologne- so hideous, she hates it, sometimes he exaggerates with the stuff.

She turns to look at him, so shocked she momentary forgets to put her clothes where they should be, to cover yet again her body. She sees him, standing still, rigid, eyes wide open with dilated pupils, so big she can't even see the color of his eyes. She can even sees his heartbeat on his pulse point.

He doesn't say a word. She doesn't either. And then…

Then, she sees it. She sees the ice cream in his hands – multi-flavored, Strawberry, Chocolate and vanilla- and she sees…oh God, she can see him through his pants, she can see him all hard, hot and bothered, all for her, because of her.

She bits her lips, almost giggling, a mischievous expression printed on her face. She hopes she is reading him well, and she hopes he'll not freak out on her. She doesn't need that, can't allow that, but she needs him, needs what she knows now he can provide. He got her all hot and bothered with that damn word… now, he has to accept that for every action there's a consequence, and his consequence will have a night of pleasure, and fun - he is going to be her sexual ice cream slave for a night. Then, she'll see if keeping him on for the duty or not.

She stands, and lifts the shirt completely from her body, throwing it on the pavement, not giving a damn about where it will end, and the same she does with her panties, only, a way slower, like the action could add spice, could make everything more seductive. He gulps, but he doesn't move away. If anything, his eyes darken, and he… studies her with hooded eyes, hair leaving his parted lips in little puffs of hot, boiling air.

She gets closer and closer, and then, she takes him for the lapel of his jacket and guides him wherever she wants him to go- he doesn't fight back, just does as she wishes, following in complete silence her, like a devoted slave ; as they walk back toward the couch where, seconds before, she was pleasuring herself, he gets a good glimpse of her rear, firm, round, and of her slender back. A sinful image connected to the one of the afternoon, but still different, new, but sinful nevertheless, hits his brain full force: Lisbon bent over the table of her kitchen, ice cream on her back, on her neck, and him licking it away while he fucks her from behind and, at the same time, he pleasures her with his fingers, feeling his own cock slamming in and out of her against his own hand… -He gets back to reality when his legs hit the couch, and he feels Lisbon kneeing in front of him, spreading his legs with her body, unzipping his pants and freeing his murderous erection from its confines.

She hears her gasping, and he moans in pleasure and agony, in ecstasy and pain, his cock hard, erect, huge, hot. She smiles, biting her lips, and sighs in content as she is going to nuzzle his pubes, but she stops, just few centimeters shy from his body, and still seductively, slowly, skimming over the length of his body with just her fingertips in all the right places, his sides, his nipples, his biceps, she gets an hold of the jar of the ice cream. - He has fantasized about it, and it's only right that he'll have a taste of this sinful and rather kinky obsession of this. An obsession she doesn't mind.

Strawberry is her choice, her favorite taste – until now, she is quite sure that nothing can beat strawberry mixed with Jane – and the ice cream is melted enough to allow her to take it directly with her fingers; soft, but not slushy. She traces his veins, throbbing with desire, with her ice-cream covered fingertip, slowly, looking at it, at him, with something that's a mixture of reverence, surprise and curiosity - Jane, hard, hot and bothered, all for her, because of her, is a sight to cherish – and then traces those same veins with her tongue, licking him clean, pressing at the same time her finger on the tip of his dick, getting it as dirty as she wants and needs it.

The tip of her tongue enters in the tiny line, begging him for his pre-cum, agonizing for it, and when he starts to give it to her, Jane's head thrown back, his hands clenching the cascade of raven hair, she moans, and attacks him furthermore, taking as much as him in her mouth as possible, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and she goes down on him working his whole length with her tongue, with just the desire to take no prisoners.

She wants to know, needs to know how she'll feel when he'll come into her mouth, she wants to know how his juices will taste when mixed with ice cream. Damn man, she thinks, he transformed her into a kinky-obsessed maniac. It's all his fault. His and of the ice cream, and now…. He'll have to pay.

All the while, he knows. He knows she is sucking him dry, aiming for his release, knows she just wants to milk him dry, feeling his semen into her mouth… and while he whimpers under her, listening to her moans of appreciation while he thrusts with tiny, slow and sensual movement between her lips, fucking her mouth, he realizes that he can't have it, doesn't want to. It's not how it's supposed to happen. Not now, at least, not their first time together.

He isn't going to lie: it's been years since the first time he has dreamt of making Teresa Lisbon a property of his own, since the first time he has thought about marking her with his seed into her tiny body… and it's not about just lust any longer- even if lust has a good part in it, actually – this is about…

He doesn't know how to say it, doesn't know how to explain it. He just thinks… he is scared… that if she'll give him oral sex now, if he'll come into her mouth, she'll see just as that, sex, while it's not sure this is what he just wants. He doesn't know any longer. He gets confused, when it comes to Lisbon.

He doesn't even care about the ice-cream any longer.

"Not… not now… just…this once…." He maneuvers, and tackles her in the same way he has seen her doing so many times, and before she could realizes it, she is on the carpet, on her back, her legs wide open, ready for his intrusion, her folds throbbing with desire, glistening with her desire for Patrick Jane.

She interlaces her arms on top of her head, like some sensual creature from some fantasy world, crossed wrists like they were handcuffed, and gets ready for him. Jane braces himself on his forearms, at each side of her head, being careful of not hurting her, not crushing her with his weight, and while, smiling, he nuzzles her nose, his dick teases her entrance. She whimpers, bucking behind him, and then, he takes pity on her, and whit a hard, quick stroke, he enters her to the hilt, his balls hitting her ass, her legs around his waist.

He moves inside her, hard, firm, quick strokes, while he buries his head between her breasts, tongue and mouth busy with her nipples, alternating. She cries out in pleasure and agony, her inner walls almost tore apart by his huge length every time he leaves her body almost completely just to penetrate her once again, every time stronger, harder. He lifts his head, and pants into her face, sweat cascading from his blond, sticky curls onto her body.

She is close, so close- she has worked herself up too much with her earlier stimulation, and he is close, so close – it's been so long, too long, he can't last, will not last, and when he'll come because of her, for the first time, he wants, he needs, to be inside her, and he feels it, just there, his killer orgasm, whispering into his ear. He quickens his pace, delighted by the way Lisbon arches her body, meeting him thrust for thrust, complementary, like two pieces of the same puzzle, and he knows it's there, and he wants her there with him as well.

His thumb finds her opening, finds her clit, and he starts to press on it, with all the force he can manage in this situation, his body almost rigid at times, others almost like jelly, and at the same time he penetrate her, with just one finger, though, and while he fucks her with his fingers, fucks her with his cock, his lips find her mouth, and he gets lost in an apparently lost kill, wet, open mouthed, but sweet and slow as well, passion and lust and love all mixed together.

He feels it, the moment her inner muscles contract around his shaft, ad it that moment, he parts from her face, and he looks at her, studies her, fascinated by the sight that's Lisbon while she is coming, lips parted, almost obscenely, screaming out all the pleasure, her nails marking his back with red lines, head thrashing wildly, eyes hooded one moment and completely open the next one, when she reaches the high she so craved.

His cock slams against his hand every time he thrusts in and out of her, and seeing her coming, feeling her coming, it's too much, and he gets rigid, his cock widening, hardening furthermore for a sec inside her body, and then, everything is white and black and lights, and he feels it, his come, slashing into her, and she accepts it, she craves it, changing slightly the angle to take more of him inside her, all of him, his cum running into tiny rivulets escaping from her opening.

At the end, he collapses on top of her, and Lisbon, while he pants in the crock of her neck, buries her hands in his curls, and keeps him there, in place. And she laughs, as a thought crosses her mind.

"You know, I think that in a while I'll really feel like having myself a chocolate ice cream… you think we could find a cone somewhere here?"


	9. Red Ribbon

Sometimes, she hated Christmas. Not in a "I'm a Grinch" kind of way, but in a "I'm sick of this totally commercialized festivity that should be about everything but capitalism". Also because said capitalized festivity forced her to do two things she couldn't stand - buying a gift for Jane and decorating. And if getting a gift for a "former billionaire with hyper-modern house to the beach who still owes a vintage cars collection worth over 2 million dollars but doesn't care about money any longer" who kept buying exaggerated gifts (pony? emeralds? Seriously?) was bad enough, decorating was even more terrible. Especially if she was supposed to put the damn decorations up on the shelves, and on the top one. Her, Miss agent Teresa "1.60 m" Lisbon with no stairs and no Rigsby around. Damn the man. Where the hell was he when she needed him the most? Probably somewhere eating or having fun with his new girlfriend- she should have reported him first time she understood they had christened the closet- and her old couch. She loved her ouch. And now, there was no way in hell she was going to sue it once again. Damn the man. And damn Jane.

Standing on tiptoes on the pile of books on a chair, Lisbon reached for the shelf, throwing the decorative red ribbon over there, grunting inside and silently when she failed to put it where she wanted; she tried once, twice, again and again, until she gave up, and decided to take the matter into her own hands, reaching directly for the angle she needed, elongating as much as she could to get there where she wanted to be.

All because Rigsby had made her puppy-dog eyes (and she couldn't say no to his puppy dog eyes, he looked too much like her own brother) and Cho had crossed his arms, silently, stoically looking at her when she had tried to question their idea of getting into Christmas to try to lift Van Pelt's morale a bit.

She was almost there, her fingertips already skimming over the fake wood, when something distracted her- her door suddenly was wide-open, and Jane entered, picked up the lock, slamming it against the wall, and corner of the chair she was currently balancing herself onto.

"Ehy, Lisbon, I put an excellent plain in motion to get Mrs. Weeds to confess and…" he hadn't ended the sentence that he was looking at her, desperately trying to find her balance on the tower of books (boring procedural and law enforcement manuals for sure) while like a scared, little, dark-haired, green eyed squeaking mouse. Trying…. And failing.

Even if he was ready (actually, he had merely mentally prepared himself) to take her once she was falling, Jane still manage to lose his equilibrium as well, falling on his back, when Lisbon landed on him, in a weird, awful, awkward position, her chest pressed against his own (arms tightened around his neck) and legs slightly turned on one side.; at the end he even hit, even if just slightly, his head against the cold pavement with a strong "thund" that reverberated through the silent office.

"Ouch…" he merely said, trying to bring his hand to massage his hurting scalp. Lisbon, though, as soon as she saw the predicament he was finding himself in, adjusted her position, and stopped Jane from moving further more for few minutes, scared by the possibility of having him amnesiac again, or worse.

"Jane, no, don't move, ok? Just… stay still. I'll call someone. Maybe we should get you checked up, I think I'll go and call an ambulance, just to make sure that you…" he made to wake up, but he stopped her by taking Lisbon for a wrist, and bringing her back to the pavement, avoiding her from leaving the spot she had landed on his body ; she looked at him quizzically, a raised eyebrow that raised furthermore almost reaching her hairline when she noticed that he was looking at everything in the room but her, and was…

Blushing. Patrick Jane, the man known to have almost zero moral, whom in another life venerated the "hippy, libertine lifestyle" in the bed department, the man who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut and closed, was blushing.

"I… uhm, I think that would get the wrong idea, if you call someone here now…." She looked at him once again quizzically, like a "what are you saying, Jane?" kind of expression, until she gasped when he motioned to their bodies with his head; just in that moment she saw what he meant.

Her shirt had escaped from the confines of her pants when she had tried to reach for the shelf, and the top buttons were free because the temperature in her office didn't want to hear about being something beside tropical. The red ribbon was cascading around her neck, on her chest, like her own dark, tussled hair; she was red and flustered because of the effort, slightly panting out of fear. But that wasn't the worst. All her things, she could easily explain them, but Jane's status, and her position, were another pair of sleeves.

She was, in fact, straddling him, her breasts to level with his face, and it was like she was riding him, in a very sexual position, a very sexual position Jane seemed to answer to, and if his current predicament was of any indication... he was definitely enjoying it a lot.

He was hard and erect beneath her body, and it made her shiver, hot wetness filling her inside and covering her tights in arousal so sharp and intense she could smell it; she groaned, biting her lips to avoid the sound to leave her mouth, almost tempted to cup his erection through his pants- she didn't, though, because if she knew Jane (which she did) he had probably avoided sexual contact with any woman since the traumatic event that had signed his very existence, and she knew a few things about basic male biology, and the difference between pleasuring themselves and being pleasured by a person you are attracted to; if she touched him now, after so many years without being touched by a woman's hand, a woman's body, he wasn't going to last, didn't matter if he had indulged in few hand-jobs of his own. She knew he couldn't resist her touch, wasn't going to last, would succumb to orgasm as soon as her fingers had touched him. So, taking pity on him, not wanting to make him come in his own pants, she resisted, already foretasting, though, her sexual harassment fantasies featuring them and her office floor.

His fingers reached shyly, almost scared, for the red ribbon, and started to play with it, while the other hand ventured towards her mouth, and Lisbon gladly, when he passed his thumb on her lower lip, took it in her mouth and sucked it, thinking of… well, another thing she wanted to do with him, something way more enjoyable than sucking fingers, but involving sucking nevertheless, sucking a very prominent part of his anatomy her rear was feeling hard and big pressed against her female body; he gasped, eyes wide with desire, and then… he threw he away, far, far away from him, and he run toward the stairs, in direction of his attic- Lisbon giggled like mad, imagining what he was probably doing right now, getting rid of his clothes and jerking off completely naked while standing in front of the huge window from where that part of Sacramento was almost completely visible.

She sighed, pouting a little, regretting not being there with him, to see him naked, hearing the sound he made when he was delirious with want and in the throes of passion – to screw him at night, there, with the landscape of the lights of Christmassy Sacramento embraced by dark… too bad it didn't snow in that part of California, she would have enjoyed being snowed him somewhere, making love in front of a fireplace while they could see the snow falling from a window, their skins enlightened by the lights of the Christmas tree under whom they were going at it.

Sitting Indian style on the pavement, Lisbon grinned, giggling like a drunken and silly schoolgirl, biting her right index, almost sure that Jane hadn't escaped because his traitorous body wanted her while his conscious mind didn't, but because he did craved her sinful and lust-filled attentions, but wasn't ready to admit it- or maybe, he hadn't been ready to until his huge erection had showed up at her benefit.

She absently played with the loose ribbon around her neck, testing its texture between her fingers, against the skin of her neck, until she bit her lips.

She hadn't solved the problem of the decorations, but at least, now, she knew what getting Jane...

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The time he had told Lisbon she was supposed to embrace the Christmas spirit instead if being her Grinch self, he was lying. Partly, at least.

Standing in a corner, trying to melt and at the same time to hid in plain sight at the CBI annual Christmas party, Jane understood that he probably couldn't stand the festivity as much as she did, being it just another day on the calendar for them- her, away from her family and unable to reach them, him, alone, his own family long gone. And besides… besides, Christmas wasn't any longer Christmas. He had never had a true one, sharing because you want to, a gift from the heart, being raised by his own father, and nowadays… nowadays, when children wrote their letters, they asked for a mobile when they were six, along with all possible kind of extra-modern toys.

He was almost sure Teresa had never wrote to Santa Claus. Being her strictly believer, she maybe wrote to the holy child himself, like he knew in many countries they still did, or maybe St. Lucy, or the "original" version of Santa, Saint Nicholas- saints, who provided love, affection, a bit of money, small toys and candies and special foods for the children, and not a caricature created by a mark of beverage.

Oh, he almost liked Catholics right now. At least, few of them still thought about Christmas being just that- Christmas, and not the holy celebration of the consumerism society like, for example, Saint Valentine. And Lisbon, being her Saint Teresa self, was certainly among them.

He looked around one last time, carefully trying to see if someone was paying attention to him, which they weren't, and moved, slowly but not too slow, quickly but not too quick, towards the stairs, destination his beloved attic. He couldn't stand that place any longer, drunken man behaving like Neanderthals and hitting on women who didn't want to have anything to do with them, women who were throwing themselves at him without shame, rubbing their bodies against his front in a manner that was everything but equivocal.

Good thing he could get his body to do as he wanted, and that, mostly, he was almost completely virtually impotent- almost completely because there was still one woman his body answered to, since that sinful siren masked as a saint still had the power to make his friend standing all tall, happy and proud, and now…

Now, Lisbon knew it, and despite the fact that since their accident he had avoided her, not knowing how to deal with the fact that now she knew there was nothing he wanted more than screwing her senseless on her office floor, he still carved her company, since she was the only one with a few moral left there… Van Pelt killing Sara with her glares, Sara reciprocating the favor, Rigsby getting all hot and bothered because of the both of them and unable to decide whom he was supposed to bring home, if the girlfriend or the redhead or maybe both if he was lucky enough and they were wasted in the right way, and Cho… well, he wasn't exactly ok with Cho. He hadn't been perfect, and in youth he had been quite the libertine, but he had been always honest and had a moral- if he was into a relationship, he was completely into it and wasn't going to sleep around, something that he was willing to do only when he was single and not interested in someone in particular. Cho, on the other hand, was still officially seeing Elise, but, meanwhile, he was almost sure that the Korean had indulged into Summer's company more than once, principally in hotel bedrooms.

Lisbon, instead… Lisbon was faithful and loyal, and found horrible women trying to steal other women's men… she had even renounced to him, knowing, feeling that he still belonged to another one, even if she wanted him….He hit his head against the cold material of the attic door, thinking back at the day of the accident, when he had been able to smell her arousal, so intense and sharp through her clothes while she was straddling him.

And Lisbon was nowhere in sight, vanished from that hideous and sophomoric party from… well, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Lisbon had been there for just minutes, exchanging few gifts and formalities and then… nothing. Smart woman. He should have followed her example a long time ago. Like, 5 minutes after the party had started.

He sighed, and once again his forehead collided, slowly and delicately, with the metallic surface of the door; it was then that he saw something, a small object on the floor, leaking from under the door, took his attention. He kneed, and took it between two fingers, feeling the delicate texture and scented fragrance, inhaling it deeply: it was the scarlet petal of a rose, and he was adamant that, last time he had been in the attic in the afternoon before the party, it hadn't been there.

He peeked under the door, and he got a sense of what was going on in the cavern of his- more petals were scattered all around the room, and a trembling light was filling the ambient, creating quite the atmosphere- candles, maybe?

He gulped down a mouthful of saliva, thinking about everything that was maybe happening- or going to happen – on the other side of the door; he cursed under his teeth, for the gun Max Winter had given him was under the mattress, nowhere close to where he was probably going to need it. Red John or one of his friends? Erica Flynn, recently released from prison? A relative of someone he put behind bars? It didn't matter, though, even if he didn't have any kind of advantage. What it mattered, was that he felt the need to know… curiosity killed the cat, he thought while he slowly opened the door, ready to face whoever was going to threaten him with those strange messages on the other side.

…and curiosity definitely killed him, he somehow managed to think as the surprise left him with a watering, wide-open mouth. For that, sitting at crossed legs on his makeshift bed, stood a giggling Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, soft, dark and glossy hair arranged in ringlets cascading on her shoulders, back and chest, perfect make up with dark red lips and golden eye-shadow; on her petite but yet extremely feminine and erotic body, sexy dark red silk and black lace lingerie was showing off just for him – a small thong, wet on her groin with her arousal, a push-up bra, that seemed to make her breasts explode, and a garter belt, adorned with sinful fishnets. To add injury to the injured, she had wrapped herself up for him, her red ribbon, the one from the incident, fashioned around her neck like she was present, served on a silver plate for him to taste and enjoy on Christmas morning.

He got hard in seconds, his erection visible through his clothes, almost escaping the confines of his pants. He wanted her, oh, how much he wanted her… and no matter what, he was going to take her this time, and hard. There was no need to run this time, they were all alone in his attic, nobody was going to spot them or even over-hear them, since they were all pretty wasted... they could even be as loud as they wanted to be. And man, was he loud!

He slowly walked towards her across the candles and the road of petals, grinning and licking his lips, hands in his pockets, so that he was pushing slightly upward his erection, putting it on display for her, all the while without stopping to look at her eyes; he reached her, and, like that day, but this time with malice and intention, he started to play with the ribbon at her neck, without, though, undoing it.

"You don't want to unwrap your present, Mister Jane?" she asked him maliciously, brining a candy cane to her moth and sucking it sinfully between her lips, mimicking the way she had sucked his finger – and was going to suck his hard-on in few minutes' time if she was a lucky and good girl. She had a pretty good impression that he was quite agreeing with her idea, because he couldn't stop to look at her lips. Was he thinking about her lipstick on his cock, she wondered? Besides…. She had seen how he had reacted to her calling him "Mr. Jane"…. looks like dirty games turned on her sexy and well-hung consultant.

"Meh, I'm like a cat. I've always liked ribbons to play with. The paper" he told her, eyeing her underwear with intent "it's a completely different matter. Shall we?" he offered her his hands, and forced her to stand on her feet, and inspected her from all sides, walking around her frame while she kept sucking her candy; when she was almost done, Jane still focused on her forms, she swallowed the rest of the sweetness in her mouth without flinching, then, she turned to look at him.

"Well, I guess I'll have to do it on my own.." she told him, her hands already aiming for her font clasp; Jane, though, run to her, and stopped the woman from taking the pleasure away from his own hands, and he slowly opened the clasp, and in the same way he slid the bra off from her shoulders, freeing her breasts from their prison, letting the full, soft mounds free to bounce as he liked them to.

"I'm sorry agent Lisbon, but, you see, I was merely looking for a way to remove that thong of yours without actually removing the garter belt and the fishnets…" his hands slowly and sensually mapped her whole body, fingertips dancing on her boiling skin while her breath turned erratic, wetness suturing her panties. His hands stopped there, on her hips, at the waistband of her lingerie, one for side, and he started to inspection the texture of the fabric, until she heard just a sound, a "thund" from each side of her body, and when she looked at him with pupils wide with desire, she saw him grinning, and brining her _ripped_ panties to his nose to smell her arousal before putting them into his pockets for future reference.

Damn, she didn't know if getting wetter at the sight or glaring at him. She had spent a fortune in lingerie as his present, and she even liked this particular set, was already fond of it. And he had ripped them without second guessing his idea or considering what she may have thought about it.

"Well, know that I considered all the possible scenarios, and this was the only way I could get you out of this thing without having to waste time in removing and then putting back on the garter" he got closer to her, managing what was actually an hard task, leaving almost no trace of space between their bodies; their chests were actually pressed together, her already hard nipples scratching against the rough texture of his vest.

Too many clothes, he was wearing too many clothes, while she was already fully naked- at least where it mattered. It just wasn't right.

Clouded by desire, her idle fingers went at work, looking for his buttons, she started to undone them but lust made her slow, made her tremble, and besides, Jane didn't seem to want to hear any of it. She was somehow disappointed that he didn't want to relinquish the command to her for once, because that has been what the gift had been about, but Jane, being Jane, wanted to have his fun first. And his fun, was giving her the fun she deserved.

He stilled her movements placing his hands around her wrists, and when she stopped, slowly, very slowly, he traced her arms with his touch; arrived at her shoulder, one hand descended along her back, tracing her spine with his index finger alone, while the other one took the opposite direction, gazing the tender skin oh her breasts while he cupped them, one fist, the other later, and then stopping on her groin.

Her breath got erratic when he got closer, his lips hot on her neck as he kissed and nipped the skin there, soothing the pain with licks of his able tongue; he bit her lobe, in the same instant his finger started to draw invisible patterns on her folds, teasing her entrance; she felt her knees turning to jelly even if he hadn't touched her that much yet, and used his shoulders for support.

"If you like it so much, I'll buy you a new tongue, but you'll not have to use it with this garter, otherwise, Lisbon, I'll be obliged to use my brute force once again…" he whispered on her skin, biting yet again her skin. She moaned out loud, and felt him grinning.

He took advantage of her surprise and her confusion to insert two fingers inside her, his thumb pressing on her clot, the whole arc of his hand at work to make her come while he moved his fingers inside her craving body, long fingers curled inside her and moving fast and hard, his skilled writs adjusting the position enough to make her come with just few touches.

He skillfully fingered Lisbon for less than a couple of minutes, before he felt her walls collapsing around his fingers, her warm juices covering his hand, wetting his shirt, in the instant she muffled her cry by biting in the collar of his shirt.

Freed his hand, he threw her on the bed in quite a carless way, her back against the cool surface of the mattress. He stood in front of her, licking his hand clean, thanking whoever invented the women that allowed them to have multiple orgasms without the need to recovery.

He stood, he grinned at her, quite evil and malicious, and while he feasted on the sight of Teresa Lisbon on his bed, naked, legs wide open for him for the taking, he got naked as well, slowly stripping for his lover. A torture it was, he knew it, but he knew also Lisbon, and his boss…. Oh, she was enjoying the show all right, if her breathing was any indication. Hands on his hips, he pushed them forward, putting his huge erection on better display just for her. "So, tell me, Lisbon, how would you prefer to go at it? I'm taking suggestion, even if I don't guarantee I'll follow them…"

She pouted, her small but yet full lips forming a perfect O, and he smirked, reading her idea too well. An idea he didn't want to follow, couldn't follow, not now, at least. "Oh, uhm, let me think about it… nope. Forget it, Lisbon, today you'll not suck me dry. There's no way that feeling you mouth around my cock will allow me to last enough to make you happy!"

Carelessly again, he moved to the bed, and threw her again, and once she was resting on her belly, he rearranged her legs and arms, and positioned himself at her back, his cock teasing her entrance from behind; Lisbon whimpered, silently asking him to fill her, her ass moving to encourage him to take her once and for all. He took her for her hips, hold so forceful he knew there were going to be bruises, and with a quick and forceful stroke, he entered her to the hilt, his balls hitting her back.

She gasped at the first penetration, her teeth tightened to avoid screaming, and even if it looked like, felt like, he was leaving no space inside her at all, she still kept moving, meeting him thrust for thrust, until it got too much and she came, biting the fabric covering the bed while all the lights disappeared in front of her and nothing existed for few minutes as Jane kept getting bigger and bigger inside her body, and to each thrust, another stronger one followed, until she collapsed on the bed like a ragdoll, her legs tucked beneath her body, Jane sitting between her spread legs, he kept pumping into her with vigor, ramming his cock inside her body, meeting the resistance of her clenching walls, her tiny entrance, so small, just like her….

After he come hissing her name between clenching teeth, he kept pumping into her still convulsing body, thrusting into her coming core, his cock covered with their mixed juices. So much come, both from him and from her, that it was too much for Lisbon. He filled her behind any reason, his seed escaping from her core in rivulets, marking her skin.

Unable to keep managing screwing her this way, his cock now soft, he pulled out of her, leaving a trail of hot semen on her skin, his last spur falling on her thighs, getting her stocking dirty; once free from his vigorous lovemaking, she turned on her back, and grinning mischievously, started to play with what was left of him on her body: she covered her whole body with his seed, and, with a sudden inspiration, she started fingering herself right before the eyes of the man, sat on the edge of the bed still exhausted.

Jane, though, looked at her merely quizzically. Lisbon was lazily fingering herself, she wasn't creaming herself, didn't want to come for him with her own fingers. Her objective was another one, and he got it as soon as he saw her taking her fingers and sucking them: she was tasting the both of them on her lips through her own fingers, through their comes.

She released her fingertips with a pop, and then looked at him in the eyes. "So, what about Round Two?"

Christmas wasn't over yet and his cock was hardening again. Frankly, she couldn't wait to exchange few other gifts with him.


End file.
